


Christmas

by Gwenpools_Aesthetic



Series: WinterDevil/Big Gun Bromance [5]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (mostly), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Christmas, Christmas Party, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Minor Clint Barton/Scott Lang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:22:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21935170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwenpools_Aesthetic/pseuds/Gwenpools_Aesthetic
Summary: “So what’s the dress code for this party, anyway?”Bucky raises his head from where he’s sitting on the couch, reading a book, and gawks at Matt. He can’t help the groan that escapes his lips. They’re at Matt’s apartment, and Matt’s just stepped out of the shower. He’s got a towel wrapped around his waist and he’s rubbing another over his hair to dry it. Bucky licks his lips. Jesus Christ he looks so fucking good.***Christmas in the Big Gun Bromance Universe. This is a three part story that is 100% completed will be posted over the next three days. It takes place between the Mid and Post-Credit scenes of "I Followed Fires." You don't need to have read the rest of the series to understand this, but there are a few callbacks. Also, you SHOULD read it because I worked hard on it and it would make me happy :)But just in case you don't have time for that - TL/DR: After Steve leaves Bucky to go fuck around in the past with a woman who had a family and didn't need him (ass), Bucky finds comfort in the arms of one Matt Murdock, AKA the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Also Bucky, Frank Castle, Clint Barton, and Wade Wilson all share a three bedroom apartment in Bed Stuy because why not.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Matt Murdock
Series: WinterDevil/Big Gun Bromance [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1447387
Comments: 29
Kudos: 71





	1. Christmas Eve

“So what’s the dress code for this party, anyway?”

Bucky raises his head from where he’s sitting on the couch, reading a book, and gawks at Matt. He can’t help the groan that escapes his lips. They’re at Matt’s apartment, and Matt’s just stepped out of the shower. He’s got a towel wrapped around his waist and he’s rubbing another over his hair to dry it. Bucky licks his lips. Jesus Christ he looks so fucking good. 

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from the expanse of muscles and scars that is Matt’s exposed chest. All of his bruises from the Masque attack have healed, but he’s got some fresh ones on his right ribs from a fight they’d gotten into two nights before with a kid named Lee who packed a surprising punch and claimed Daredevil killed his father. He can’t see it, but Bucky knows there’s also a bruise the size and shape of his hand on Matt’s ass. Sorry not sorry about that one, though. 

And yeah, Matt can tell he’s staring at him. He heard Bucky’s sharp intake of breath. He can tell that Bucky’s heart is racing. But he’s just standing there, cocky smile dancing on his lips, abs tight and toned, nipples hardening from the cool air or the heat of Bucky’s attention. It doesn’t matter which one. Maybe both. A few drops of water have pooled in the dip above Matt’s left clavicle, and all Bucky wants in life is to lick them out. 

He’s suffered a lot. He deserves to get what he wants.

Before he can think he’s on his feet, stalking towards Matt like he’s a lion and Matt’s a gazelle unfortunate enough to stop at the wrong watering hole. 

Except… Bucky knows Matt’s no gazelle. He’s a lion too.

Bucky stops just before their bodies touch, eyes locked on Matt’s for all the good it’ll do him. It doesn’t matter; he likes Matt’s eyes. And Matt, in his defense, does not flinch. Not even when Bucky bares his teeth, growling low and deep. He just stands there, breathing comfortably, smiling as if he’s got a secret, hands resting casually on his towel-draped-hips.

Bucky leans forward and runs his tongue along Matt’s collar bone, tasting his skin and his soap, lapping up the water that had gathered there. 

“We’re going to be late.” Matt’s voice is dark and gravely, the first sign Bucky has that he’s affecting him. And oh does he ever want to affect him. “Plus, I just got clean. You planning on getting me all messy again?” 

Bucky nods, his mouth too busy sucking small bruises into Matt’s chest to be bothered with answering. But yeah, he is. He’s about to get him all messy again. Party be damned; they can be fashionably late. His hands find their way to Matt’s hips and push the towel off, and then Matt is stepping into his space, closing the small amount of distance between them, running his perfect hands over Bucky’s back and under Bucky’s shirt, pulling it up over his head and pressing their naked chests together. Bucky’s still wearing sweatpants, hung low on his hips, but they’re thin and there’s no question about what he or Matt is thinking about when Matt pulls them together, bodies flush against each other. Matt slots a thigh between Bucky’s legs and Bucky grinds into it. 

“You’ve got about three seconds to get your ass into that bedroom, Murdock,” Bucky whispers, teeth dragging across Matt’s earlobe, “or I’m going to pick you up and carry you in there like a caveman.”

Matt plants his feet, smirk growing into a wild grin, and Bucky cannot be held responsible for his actions. He did warn him, after all. He snarls and lunges, moving to wrap his arms around Matt’s waist, but at the last second Matt twists, dropping down and kicking Bucky’s feet out from under him. Bucky lands on his back and lays there for a second, stunned. 

A second is all Matt needs, and he’s climbing up over Bucky’s body, straddling his hips. He leans over and kisses Bucky, worrying Bucky’s lower lip with his teeth as he pulls back away. 

“You fight dirty,” Bucky mutters. 

Matt laughs and the sound is like bells. God, Bucky loves this man so much. “You like it.” And he grinds down just a little, as if to prove his point.

As if there were any doubt. 

Bucky huffs a breath, as if put out by the entire situation, then fluidly rolls both of them over until Matt is lying on his back on the hard wood floors. “I was going to try and make this good for you, Mr. Sensitive, but I’m just as happy here as in the bed. Your floors are still better than a frozen trench in Nazi Germany.” He peppers kisses down Matt’s neck and scarred pecs, and revels in the gutted noise that Matt makes when Bucky flicks his tongue against his nipple. 

He kisses his way lower. Matt has one arm pillowing his head while the fingers of his other are working through Bucky’s newly short hair, nails scratching across Bucky’s scalp. It’s addictive, and Bucky leans into the sensation, momentarily losing focus on his goal. He hears Matt chuckle above his head.

“You get distracted down there?” Matt’s fingers are drawing circles along Bucky’s hairline, and Bucky feels like his insides are melting. 

He licks a stripe down Matt’s cock in response. It’s already red and leaking at the tip, and Matt groans when Bucky wraps his lips around it, his fingers fisting tightly into Bucky’s hair. Bucky’s scalp burns and tears spring to his eyes and, yeah, that feels good. He hums and sucks Matt down deeper, bobbing his head and drinking in the appreciative grunts and groans that Matt is making. He hollows his cheeks and swirls his tongue, using every trick he knows. He can feel it working; Matt is tensing underneath him, his hand is gripping tighter in Bucky’s hair, and Bucky can practically feel his heart pounding. 

“Wait!” Matt gasps out. “James, please!”

Bucky pulls off slowly and looks up at Matt’s face. Matt’s eyes are pointed straight up at the ceiling. 

“Want…” Matt flails, grabbing Bucky’s wrist, and Bucky loves when he gets like this - so blissed out on sensation that he can’t even talk. He’s got Bucky’s hand now, and he’s guiding it across his hip and towards his ass. 

Bucky frowns. “I want that too, baby I do. But we can’t. We don’t have t…” He stops mid sentence once Matt’s got his hand where he wants it, because Matt…

Bucky looks up at Matt’s face again, and he can see the blush spreading from his chest to nose. 

Because Matt’s ready to go. Slicked up. Stretched out. Warm and wet and wanting. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Matty.” Bucky has his pants kicked off in an instant. And, ok, maybe the floor isn’t the best place for this, what with Matt’s sensitive back taking the brunt of it, but Bucky is beyond caring, especially as he’s starting to realize that Matt planned all of this. His fingers dig into Matt’s hips as he easily hoists them off the floor, lining himself up and pressing in to the hilt in one fluid motion. Bucky leans forward, dropping to his left forearm and using his vibranium hand to cradle Matt’s head as he lifts it slightly to meet his lips, licking into Matt’s mouth in a filthy kiss. His right hand is supporting Matt’s lower back. He doesn’t even try to start slow. Matt is making little happy noises beneath him, and that is all the permission he needs to drive in hard and fast, trying his best to hold Matt in place, to keep his back from rubbing raw against the wood slats of the floor. 

“Move with me,” Bucky whispers, tightening his grip slightly and pulling Matt up until he’s sitting on Bucky’s lap. Matt digs his fingers into Bucky’s shoulders, holding himself close as he begins to fuck himself on Bucky’s cock. Bucky lets his left hand drift down until he’s holding the back of Matt’s neck. He licks a line from the dip at the base of Matt’s throat up to his ear then bites down on his jaw, immediately soothing the bite with a kiss. More bites and kisses follow, back down Matt’s neck and over his strong shoulders, and some of those are definitely going to leave a mark but Bucky cannot be bothered to care. He can feel Matt’s movements start to waiver; he can feel his own body tensing. Matt groans, and Bucky snakes his right hand between them and wraps it around Matt’s cock, stroking him firmly until Matt tenses around him, throwing himself back into Bucky’s hand. Matt comes, hot and sticky over both of their chests, and Bucky is following on his heels.

Matt collapses forwards into Bucky’s chest, and Bucky wraps his right arm around him tightly, holding him as small tremors run through his body, planting gentle kisses into his hair. 

“What if it hadn’t worked?” Bucky asks after a few minutes, once Matt seems to have calmed slightly in his embrace.

“Hmm?” 

“What if I hadn’t taken the bait. Pretty bold to assume I would just attack you the moment you got out of the shower.”

Matt smiles. “I didn’t even for a minute consider that you wouldn’t.” He runs his hands over Bucky’s shoulders and pulls his left arm around him as well, kissing him softly and bumping their foreheads together. “Come on. We should get ready for real now.”

Bucky helps him to his feet and follows Matt into the bathroom. The shower is too small for both of them; broad shoulders bumping together and wet skin rubbing against wet skin as they jostle for space. Matt soaps up his chest and Bucky can’t look away. He can feel himself getting hard again and it’s almost embarrassing, because they have places they need to be, until he looks up from Matt’s hands to his face and notices the smirk is back. Matt drops to his knees there and swallows him down, pulling a second orgasm out of him with a smile on his face and several well timed flicks of his tongue. By the time he’s done, the water is starting to get cold and neither is tempted to linger. 

In the end, they’re only leaving Matt’s apartment about 30 minutes later than they had discussed, and they could make that up on the way. 

They take the subway to Harlem where Bucky has a car parked in a garage. It’s an Audi R8, and it had been Tony’s. About four months after the funeral, Pepper had asked Bucky to Tony’s private garage in the city and told him to take one - any one. She didn’t need them, she’d said, and Tony would have wanted him to have one. Bucky was pretty sure this wasn’t true, but he didn’t think Pepper was lying, either. Pepper believed that Tony would have wanted Bucky to have one of his cars, and that meant something. 

Bucky’s ma had taught him the difference between charity and a gift. Barneses didn’t need charity, but a gift was something different. A gift was as much about the giver as the receiver, and the polite thing to do when someone gave you a gift was to tip your hat and say thank you. 

So that’s what he’d done. 

He’d picked the Audi, if he was being honest, because of all of Tony’s cars it seemed like the only one he was going to be able to fit in. Bucky had been a car guy in his youth, but sports cars had only gotten smaller since then, and Bucky had definitely gotten bigger. He’s not sure if he ever would have even driven it if he hadn’t mentioned it to Matt. 

Matt, whose eyes had grown wide and who quietly whispered a request to go there, as if that might have been too much to ask. 

As if there were anything Bucky wouldn’t give him.

When they’d gotten to the garage, Matt had run his hands over as much of the car as he could reach before resting his palms on the hood and wistfully asking Bucky if he could please, please,  _ please _ start the engine. 

After he’d obliged, Bucky’s only regret had been that the car didn’t have a back seat for them to make time in.    
  
So he’d done the next best thing. He’d pushed Matt back until he was lying on the hood of the still-running car and blown him until he came with a yell so loud that it had roused the attention of the security guard on duty. 

“What are you thinking about?” Matt asked, startling Bucky out of his memory.

“Hmm?”

“Your heart rate just shot up. Your blood pressure, too. You ok?”

Bucky smiles. “Yeah, Matty I’m fine.” They were out of the city and through New Jersey and headed North on 87 through a snowy state park. It was still pretty early on Christmas Eve and traffic hadn’t been terrible getting out of the city. They were making good time. 

“Then what were you thinking about?”

Bucky glances over at Matt. He’s sitting comfortably in the passenger seat, reclined slightly, knees spread, face straight forward. One hand is resting gently on the window, and Bucky wonders what he’s feeling with it. He knows that Matt is taking in the purr of the engine and the flex of the suspension beneath them, in addition to apparently monitoring Bucky’s well being. “I was thinking about you,” he answers truthfully. No point in lying. “I was thinking about when I laid you out on the hood of this car and how much I’d like to do it again sometime.”

“Is that so?” The cocky smile is back and Bucky has to focus to keep his eyes on the road. “I mean, you could pull over but we’re late already and it’s kind of cold out…”

“You’re a menace.”

“You like it.”

Bucky just smiles at that, focusing to keep his eyes on the road when all he wants is to get lost in the man sitting next to him. It’s true. He does like it. 

***

“Hey Asshole!” 

Matt steps out of the car once Bucky’s parked in the large enclosed hanger. “Hey Clint,” he calls back smiling, retrieving his cane from behind the passenger seat and snapping it open.

“Bucky, man,” Clint walks over and thumps him on the shoulder. “You’d better get to the kitchen, stat. Sam’s cursing your name.”

“What?” Matt can hear Bucky’s heart pick up a beat. “What did I do?!?”

“I don’t know, dude. He was shouting up a storm, though. Something about a shitty recipe? And there was black smoke pouring out of the oven.”

“Fuck, what?!” Bucky took off at top speed. 

“I’ll just… be here I guess?” Matt calls after him. He shrugs and turns to Clint. His body language and heart say he’s feeling impatient. Probably waiting for someone. There’s something off with his breathing, too. His bones rattle slightly with each breath.   
  
“How did you break your ribs?” Matt asks.

Clint pauses for a moment, taken aback, then smiles rubbing a hand absentmindedly over the offending area. “Some fucker stepped on me. You should have seen him, though. He looked much worse. How about you? How are those Hell’s Kitchen dumpsters treating you these days?”

Matt laughs, trying to come up with a response, absentmindedly rubbing the bruise on his own ribs, when there is a commotion in the hallway and he turns his attention towards it. He can hear Scott Lang and Peter Quill walking towards them.

“Don’t be fucking stupid.” Peter laughs, and bumps his shoulder into Scott’s. “Indy is a genius. He’s a professor and an archeologist and he punches nazis. Punches, Scott. As in, gets into fist fights with. Like, all the time.”

“Dude, what the hell?” Scott wraps an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Han punches people too.”

“Yeah, but only if he has to. He’s too trigger happy. It makes him lazy. Probably forget how to throw a decent punch; too busy shooting aliens all the time. Plus, Indy is hot.”

Scott stops walking and grabs at his chest, clutching his heart. “Are you saying Han isn’t hot? He’s… He’s Han Solo, man! He’s the hottest there is. He got Princess Leia for pity's sake.”

“Indy could get a princess if he wanted to. He doesn’t have time for that shit, man. Princesses - they’re nothing but trouble.”

“But you are literally Han Solo.” And Scott seems genuinely distressed now. “It doesn’t make any sense. He’s a space pirate. You’re a space pirate. You should…”

“So what you’re saying is you think I’m hot?”

Scott pauses for a moment, looking Peter once up and down as if he’s giving him an honest assessment. He nods and then grins. “Of course you are, man! You’re absolutely hot. I mean, you’re no young Steve Rogers, but…” Peter slugs him in the shoulder and they both laugh. 

The two burst through the door and into the hanger. 

Matt tilts his head to the side and sniffs the air.  _ They’re not drunk _ , he decides after a moment assessment.  _ They’re just idiots. _

“Matt!” Scott walks quickly over to him and claps his back in a half hug. “How’s it going? Long time no see or whatever. Sorry. I didn’t mean…”   


“It’s ok,” Matt cuts him off. He likes Scott. He’s almost as awkward on the outside as Matt feels on the inside most days.

“Sam kicked everybody out of the kitchen and that’s where the party was supposed to be and there’s nothing to do so Peter is going to take us to space!” Scott explains in one breath. He’s walking backwards across the hanger, looking at Matt while he’s talking, which Matt thinks is cute but clearly unnecessary. Eye contact, kind of overrated in his case. He’s about to clarify that - to tell Scott to watch where he’s going - when Scott backs directly into a motorcycle and knocks it over. 

“Oh, Shit! This isn’t… Oh, god. Did I…?” Scott is cursing and fumbling and trying to right the motorcycle. Matt walks quickly over to help and the two men lift the heavy bike back up to standing.

Matt allows his fingers to trace delicately across the fuel tank and supple leather seat as he takes a deep breath. The leather is unbelievably soft. It’s well worn, but also was clearly expensive. It’s a Harley, that’s unmistakable. Even without the motor running, Matt can hear the single pin connecting dual pistons in the engine. The engine which Matt now notices is still slightly warm. It’s just a residual trace of heat; whoever road it in probably got there the night before. But still - who is riding a motorcycle in upstate New York in the dead of winter? It must have been freezing. Nobody could tolerate it. They’d shut down. They’d…

“Scott…” Matt says quietly, running his fingers across the handlebars, noting the striking absence of a windshield, an old-fashioned design choice on a very modern bike. “...did you just knock over Steve Rogers’s motorcycle?”

“You saw nothing, ok?” Scott hisses at him, and then claps a hand over his mouth in realization of what he’d just said.

Matt grins. “Well, you’ve certainly got me there!”

“Are you two idiots coming or what?” Clint calls from the now open hanger door. He’s leaning back casually, and Matt can tell he’s stifling a laugh. 

“Come on!” Scott is moving again, and Matt follows him without thinking. It’s the cold air streaming through the open door that finally brings him back to his senses.

He pauses, turning to Clint. “Hold on. What’s happening?”

Clint smiles. “Quill’s taking us for a ride in the Benatar. You’re welcome to come with if you want. You can’t ‘look down on the Earth’ and all that, but it might still be fun. You don’t have to, though, if you don’t want to.”

Matt nods and grins, trying not to look overly excited and knowing that he’s failing miserably. He’s going to ride on a fucking spaceship. “Hell yeah I want to!”

“Great! This is gonna be awesome.” Clint holds out his arm and Matt accepts it. There is snow coming down, light and feathery, but still enough to challenge his senses and he appreciates the assist.

“Shit!” Matt curses over the wind. Clint pauses in the blowing snow. “I shouldn’t leave without telling James. He worries. He’ll think I wandered off or something!” 

“It's not a big deal!” Clint shouts back, urging Matt along. It’s cold and none of them are wearing coats. “If he gets concerned, he’ll just ask FRIDAY where you went, and she’ll tell him.”

Clint ushers Matt up the metal staircase into the Benatar, and it is only as the stairs begin gliding shut behind them, grinding in their tracks, that Matt starts to think that maybe he’s made a terrible mistake. This isn’t like a sports car. There are no sleek lines or supple leather. The engine doesn’t purr. When Peter turns on the thrusters, the force of it tears through Matt. He grabs onto the wall, practically doubling over from the volume and the intensity of the vibrations. The metal is cold and sharp. Something like electricity but different crackles through the walls and above his head. Peter flips a switch and Matt visibly flinches as he feels something shift in the floor beneath him - panels of an unknown metal coming to life, almost burning hot in the energy they produce, altering the gravity onboard the ship. He staggers; worries that his knees might give out beneath him. 

“Aww… Matty no..” he hears Clint say, but it’s hard to pinpoint where exactly he is. The sounds and angry vibrations of the Benatar are overwhelming his senses. 

Peter casts Matt a warning glance as Matt manages to stumble into one of the chairs and buckle himself in. “Don’t you dare puke in my ship, Murdock!” 

Matt presses his lips together, unwilling to make a promise he isn’t sure he can keep.

He feels them lift off and the pressure is unbelievable. It’s one-thousand times worse than the pressure change on an airplane. Matt can hear the wind scraping against the hull of the ship. He can feel the ice and snow as they push up past the clouds. It’s cold. Outside the ship is oppressively cold and he can feel it trying to get in. He gasps as the consistency of the air changes. Is he going to suffocate? Is he having a panic attack? His skin prickles and he wonders what it would feel like to black out. He can remember once, as a boy, standing up too fast on a hot day and his vision going first grey then black. He hadn’t lost consciousness; he’d just stood there for a minute, unable to see, until his dad had noticed what was happening and had made him sit down on the ground and put his head between his knees. Would he be able to tell, now, if the same thing were happening. 

Somewhere, at the edge of his perception, he feels the Benatar slow and then stop in its ascent. He hears Peter’s voice telling them it’s ok to unbuckle and he does, sliding out of his chair and hitting the ground hard, dropping his head down lower than his heart. He feels a hand on his back and he pushes them away. It’s too much right now. He’s too sensitive. Everything hurts. He struggles to breathe. Focuses. Calms his heart. 

Slowly, everything comes back into focus. His breathing calms. His pounding heart follows. He realizes they’re all staring at him. 

“I’m ok,” Matt manages to choke out. “It was just… that was a lot, but I’m ok. I’m not going to puke; I promise.”

Peter’s heartbeat doesn’t suggest that he believes Matt. “This isn’t how you’re supposed to act when someone takes you for a ride on their spaceship,” he whines. 

Scott snorts.

“What?” Peter sounds offended. 

“Nothing.” Scott holds up his hands innocently.

Peter glares at him, then turns to walk away. 

“I mean, you didn’t even buy him dinner first or anything.”

Peter spins around to face him. “Real mature, Lang.”

“Me!” Scott is laughing. “You’re the one talking about giving people rides on your ‘spaceship.’”

“That’s what this is!!!”

“You sure you’re ok?” Clint asks, sitting down on the ground next to Matt while Scott and Peter argue in the background. “Bucky’s going to kill me if you’re not ok”

Matt laughs. “I’m ok,” he says, and he believes it a little more this time.

Clint considers it for a moment, then nods and stands. He walks towards the window and Matt can feel his mood shift. Concern for Matt and annoyance at the other two flows into awe, which flows directly into despair. Scott breaks away from Peter with one last jab (“Whatever you say,  _ Starlord.” “ _ It’s not my fault people call me that. And anyway it’s a cool name!!”) and moves next to Clint. He wraps an arm comfortingly around Clint’s shoulder, and Clint leans into him. 

“She’s out there, that way,” Clint says after a moment. He doesn’t move, so Matt assumes he must be pointing with his eyes only. Scott begins to speak to Clint, soft and comforting, voice below a whisper, lips so close that they’re almost brushing against his ear.  _ Natasha is safe. She’s at rest. She’s at peace. _

Matt takes a deep breath, focusing. He tunes out Scott and Clint and Peter. Their words aren’t meant for him. He’s intruding. He finally stands, legs feeling only slightly wobbly beneath him, and moves towards an empty window. He presses his hand up against the glass that he realizes as he touches it isn’t actually glass, and does his best to tune out the ship. He pushes past the metal and wiring and pressurized atmosphere and fake gravity… until he feels… nothing. It’s clear and it’s black and it’s silent. Total emptiness. 

And then…

Matt gasps. It’s loud enough that the others hear him, and they come to see if he’s ok. 

He smiles, not turning from the window. Their presence is warm and grounding, their heartbeats familiar but not loud enough to drown out the rest. He wishes they could hear it too - wishes this was something he could share.

“The stars are singing.”

He can feel them staring at him as he searches for words. “They’re… it’s… It’s like strings, but pulsing. Like an orchestra trying to replicate the sound of a lawnmower. I can hear it in my chest. It’s like bubbles bursting and the bubbles are full of sound.” He sighs, and leans his forehead into the window. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Matt can hear them talking as he lets the sound fill him, but he’s not focusing on what they have to say. 

“Man, Bucky’s going to have your head.”

“Me? I didn’t do this. It’s your spaceship.”

“Yeah but it was your idea to invite him. If we broke his magic ears…”

Their voices overlap with each other and he loses track of who’s saying what, choosing instead to focus on the sound of the stars - vibrations carried through space. Vibrations that he knows are millions of years old... 

He’s not sure how long he stands there before Clint takes him gently by the arm. “Come on, Matt. You’d better sit down; it’s time to go back.”

Matt allows himself to be led away from the window and back to his chair, and he buckles himself in. 

The descent is quieter than the ascent, Matt thinks. It’s easier. Or maybe he’s learned to tune it out already. Either way, they’re on the ground before Matt has time to stress, and he feels like he can still hear the stars if he focuses hard enough, although he suspects it might just be a memory.  _ Regardless,  _ he thinks with a soft smile,  _ it’s a memory I’ll hold onto for a long time. _

He unbuckles himself slowly, listening now to the sound of the snow falling onto the roof of the Benatar. Peter has already exited the ship by the time Matt’s standing. Clint links elbows with him on one side, and Scott does the same on the other. “I’m not crazy,” Matt says, as they head down the stairs and into the snow. It’s gotten heavier, but the air feels warmer and with Scott and Clint surrounding him, Matt feels almost warm. “The stars really were making noise.”

“Yeah, we know,” Scott replies with a laugh. “There was an article about it in the New York Times a few years back. Scientists were using it to tell how big stars were. It’s just fun to fuck with Quill.”

They pause, and Matt can feel Scott and Clint both look up at the sky. Scott speaks again, quietly:

> “He stared up at the stars: and it seemed to him then that they were dancers, stately and graceful, performing a dance almost infinite in its complexity. He imagined he could see the very faces of the stars; pale, they were, and smiling gently, as if they had spent so much time above the world, watching the scrambling and the joy and the pain of the people below them, that they could not help being amused every time another little human believed itself the center of its world, as each of us does.”

Clint releases Matt’s elbow and brings his hand to Scott’s forearm, squeezing it gently. “Nerd,” he practically whispers.

Matt can feel the warmth pouring out of the open door leading into the hanger and he walks towards it, leaving Clint and Scott to follow a few steps behind. 

He notices the scent just a moment before he’s through the door. It’s sharp and pungent and he recognizes it immediately; the smell of burnt flour is one that Matt is deeply familiar with. It lingers in practically every living space with a kitchen that Matt has ever been in. But this is fresh. He cocks his head, listens, and can hear Sam and Bucky arguing across the compound. 

“He’s got the face!” Clint exclaims as he and Scott walk through the hanger door. “What are you listening to?”

“Sam and James are fighting. One of them set something on fire. Neither is taking responsibility.”

“Man, that’s what was happening when we left! We may as well head over there anyway. At least we can watch the show. Hey! I just had a thought.” Scott wraps an arm around Matt’s shoulder as they walk through the hallways of the compound. “So, I happened to hear through people I know that Cybertech systems is developing some new, impenetrable security system. What if we just, I don’t know, drank a coffee on their sidewalk and you happened to overhear how it worked? Then I could build it and sell it to my clients.”

“You don’t have clients anymore, Scott,” Clint reminds him.

“Ok, but I would have clients if I had an impenetrable security system.”

Matt shakes his head. “Scott, you do remember that I’m a lawyer, right? I’m not going to help you steal intellectual property.”

Scott laughs and waves a hand, as if to brush Matt’s comments away. “No, no it’s not like that at all. Cybertech is evil. They force all these smaller companies to go out of business, just so they can buy them out and have all their ideas.”

“A hostile takeover isn’t very ethical, but it’s not a crime…”

“And neither is stealing back what they stole, right?”

“Oh my God,” Matt groans. “Can you even hear yourself right now? It’s stealing. Stealing is always criminal.”

“Hear that, Scotty?” Clint smacks him on the ass. “ I told you the way you steal hearts is criminal.”

Matt continues, ignoring them. “As your lawyer...”

“You’re not my lawyer,” Scott interrupts.

“Ok, as A Lawyer, I’m going to highly advise against your stealing from Cybertech. Or anyone!”

“Party pooper,” Scott mutters, but he’s smiling. 

They walk in silence for a while, and Matt can’t help but notice how close Scott and Clint walk, their shoulders bumping together occasionally.

“Ok, but what if I told you that I think they’re also trying to reverse engineer a Hydra process for reanimating dead human tissue?” Scott asks as they reach the door.

“What the fuck, Scotty, are you serious?” Clint exclaims. “Lead with that next time!”

The door slides open and the three walk through into the common area. “I mean, I don’t KNOW that’s what they’re doing. I’ve just heard things from people…”

Matt makes a mental note to ask Karen to look into Cybertech as soon as he gets back to the office. Bucky is standing in the kitchen area, and Matt walks over and wraps an arm around his waist. He opens the oven door and winces. “What are you making? It smells terrible. Also, you’re a disaster.”

Bucky pouts as Matt closes the oven. He’s streaked from head to toe in flour, and he swipes a thumb across Matt’s cheek, leaving a white smear behind. “Sam and I wanted to make soda bread for Steve. His Ma used to make it every Christmas. But there’s something wrong with the recipe; it just keeps overflowing the pan. It’s a big wet soupy mess.”

“I followed the recipe exactly,” Sam adds, pushing the bowl under Bucky’s nose. “It’s not my fault. The recipe you gave me is crap.”

“It’s not crap! It’s Steve’s Ma’s recipe and we made it and it was perfect! Clearly there’s something wrong with your ingredients.”

“Man, do not start with me on that again. My ingredients…”

“When did you make it?” Matt interrupts. He dips his pinky finger cautiously into the bowl and licks a small sample of the batter off his finger.

“What?” Bucky asks.

“We just mixed it up,” Sam answers at the same time.

“No, not this batch.” Matt works the too salty batter around in his mouth and breaks away from Bucky to search for a water cup. “James. When did you and Steve make the recipe? Recently, or before?”

“Before,” Bucky answers quickly, pulling down a cup for Matt, filling it at the sink, and handing it to him. “Matty, you know I haven’t…”

Matt cuts him off with a hand to his arm. He takes a sip of the water and swishes it around his mouth. “That’s not why I’m asking. I meant before the war, anyway. Don’t worry.” He grabs a spatula and begins to scrape the dough into the garbage. “This one will explode, too. It’s the baking soda. There’s too much of it.”

“See!” Sam exclaims victoriously.

Matt shakes his head. “Or maybe it’s too good? Mrs. Rogers would have been using depression era baking soda, and you would have been too when you made it, right?”

Bucky nods.

“Hey FRIDAY,” Matt calls out, a little giddy. He’s never addressed the AI before. “Is baking soda stronger now than it would have been during the 1930s and 40s?”

There is a pause, and for just a second Matt is worried that he doesn’t have the right clearance to talk to FRIDAY or something embarrassing like that. Then the voice floats down from the ceiling, calm and pleasant as always. “That is correct, Mr. Murdock. Sodium Bicarbonate, commonly known as baking soda, used to be sold in cakes that were mixed with flour. To compensate, modern baking soda should be reduced by one third when being used in a recipe from this era. Failure to do so will lead to a liquid dough that is prone to overflowing when baked.”

“And you couldn’t have told us this earlier?” Sam shouts at the ceiling.

“You didn’t ask,” the pleasant Irish voice replies calmly. 

Sam grumbles and Matt smiles, stepping out of the kitchen and making his way over to Scott and Clint who are sitting on the couch playing a video game. They’re sitting next to each other, close on one end of the oversized, U-shaped sectional couch, and Matt sits down on the other side so he’s facing them. He tunes out the sound of their game and focuses his attention on mapping out the room. He’s been in the Avenger’s common room a few times before, but things have been moved about since the last time he was here. The sectional has been made narrower and longer to accommodate the 12 foot Christmas tree that takes up one full side of the room. There are also a few arm chairs and card tables, in addition to the large dining table that’s always present. Clearly they’re gearing up for a big crowd.

The tree is real and smells amazing, and Matt allows himself to be overwhelmed by it for several minutes. 

It’s from the area - that much is easy to tell - and it’s fresh. The cold winter air still clings to its needles. Somebody probably went out in the woods behind the compound and cut it down that morning. Matt wonders briefly who got the honor. It’s decorated in tiny LED lights, and absolutely covered with ornaments of varying shapes and sizes, plus pounds of tinsel garland, and a popcorn garland draped on top of that. Matt has no way to know, of course, but he assumes the lights are colored. Whoever decorated was going for excess; the thick branches of the sturdy tree are dripping with glass and tin and paper decorations. This isn’t a minimalist tree; there’s nothing simple or clean about it. Matt likes it. It has warmth and texture. 

Matt lets his senses drift to under the tree, and is surprised and embarrassed when he realizes that the packages there actually contain things. He sits up quickly, pulling his senses back, feeling a bit like a child who’s been caught snooping for presents in his parents’ closet. 

Except, of course, he hasn’t been caught. Nobody noticed. Clint and Scott are engrossed in their game, and James and Sam are still bickering in the kitchen. Nobody saw Matt peek. 

Still, Matt learned at a young age that you don’t always want to know what kinds of presents people are buying for their loved ones.

He was normally so disciplined about it, but he had assumed these were empty and just for decoration. Bucky had explained to him that, officially, the Avengers didn’t exchange presents. There were just too many of them. It got ridiculous after a while. Sure, they had brought presents for a quite a few people. James was especially pleased about a small, stuffed bear that he’d gotten for Sam. He’d told Matt that it had a blue coat with red buttons, that it was wearing a black mask, and that it was called a “Bucky Bear,” and that Sam would get it. Matt was pretty sure James was just trying to antagonize Sam, but that was fine. 

They’d gotten a subscription to a pizza of the month club for Clint and a vintage for apron for Wanda, although James didn’t know for sure if she was coming. Apparently, Wanda had squirreled herself away in Fairfax Virginia of all places, and wasn’t communicating with the rest of the team. James had chased her down and said she’d set herself up in some sort of 50’s domestic pastiche. He seemed a bit worried about her.

Matt had picked up an antique tea-pot for Danny and Colleen, and a bottle of Jack and a blue cashmere scarf for Jessica. Then there was a nice camera for Peter and some craft beer for Scott and Stephen. James was giving a dollhouse to Morgan that had belonged to his sister. All of these, along with Matt’s presents for James and (he assumed) James’s present for him, were tucked safely in the trunk of the Audi to be delivered individually. 

So who had left piles of presents under the tree?

Matt doesn’t have much time to dwell on it when he feels footsteps in the hallway. The doors open again and people - so many people - start to pour in. Pepper and Morgan and Bruce and Rhodey. Pete is there with May and Happy. Thor, Quill, Rocket, Groot, Drax, and Nebula aren’t very far behind. Carol comes in with her family: Maria and Monica. Matt hears Jessica and Danny and Colleen arrive, and at that point he starts to tune everything out. Other people come in, but frankly it’s just too much for Matt to focus on. It’s too loud. There are too many bodies, many of them not quite human, in too small a space and Matt knows his choices are to zone out or to become completely overwhelmed and non-functional. He picks the former. 

He focuses on just the area around him. Scott and Clint turn off their video game and turn a Christmas special on TV, and Matt listens for a while to what he thinks are talking animals discussing a variety of winter holidays. 

“May I join you?” 

His voice is low and commanding and Matt startles, quickly jumping to his feet.

“Please, sit down,” Steve says, more gently this time. “I brought you a drink. Whiskey, right?” 

Matt feels a large hand wrap around his wrist as Steve guides the glass to his hand and his hand to the glass. It’s unnecessary and patronizing, and Matt tries not to flinch. He smiles instead, although he’s sure it looks forced, and takes a sip of the whiskey. The smell of pine sap is clinging to Steve’s skin. “You cut down the tree.” It isn’t a question. 

Steve nods anyway, agreeing. “Decorated it too.”

Matt sits back down on the sofa and feels it dip as Steve sits down next to him. “I like it. You did a good job.”

“Oh?” Matt can tell it’s genuine surprise and curiosity in Steve’s voice. “How can you tell? I mean, I’ve been told what it is that you do…” he gestures vaguely at Matt “...but I’m not sure I understand how it all works.”

Matt takes another, larger sip of Whiskey. The second part was a lie. Steve understands exactly how it all works; he just wants Matt to explain it and Matt isn’t quite sure why. It’s fine, though. Whatever game Commander Rogers is playing at, he can play too.

“People assume it’s just hearing,” Matt begins, because he’s found that’s the easiest way. “That my ears compensate for my eyes, like Clint’s eyes compensate for his ears. But it’s more than that. It’s touch and taste, too. So, for example,” he pauses, cocking his head to the side, “I can feel the different kinds of ornaments on the tree. Metal and glass and plastic all react differently, and every step made in the room vibrates the tree just a little. I can hear how the air moves around them, which tells me that they’re all different shapes - not just the standard balls. I like that. Beyond the tree, I can smell and taste the Cornish hens that Sam is cooking. They’re stuffed with sourdough bread and apricots. The bread is from Patisserie Des Ambassades in Harlem. Luke took me there once.”

Matt takes another drink, decides honesty is the best policy, and continues. “I can tell that you think I might be lying - that maybe I was told what the tree looks like or where the bread came from before - but I’m not. I can also tell that you’re lying to me, just a little. You’ve been told everything I can do, but you want to hear me tell it again. I’m not sure I know why, though.”

Steve leans back into the sofa, and Matt can feel that he’s assessing him. “How did you know that I was lying?” 

“Your heart. People’s heart rate doesn’t stay steady when they tell a lie. Not completely. No matter how good of liars they are.”

“And you monitor that?”

“Sometimes.”

“That doesn’t sound very ethical, especially for a lawyer.”

_ Ah,  _ Matt thinks.  _ There it is.  _ “Maybe it’s not,” Matt shrugs and tries not to look defensive. “But it’s not admissible evidence anyway. I still need to prove my clients’ guilt or innocence without it. Mainly I use it to decide what cases to take. If someone is innocent but no one believes them, then that’s a case I want to help with.”

“And what about outside of the courtroom? What then?”

“Everybody lies,” Matt answers nonchalantly. “It’s not my place to police that. I figure, if somebody has something they don’t want to tell me, that’s their decision to make and not mine.”

“But you just told me you knew I was lying.”

Matt considers that for a moment before responding. “That was different. I couldn’t honestly answer your question without admitting I knew you were lying. But like I said, it’s not my place to try and figure out why you were lying.”

Steve considers him for a moment. “Thanks,” he finally says, “about the tree. I’m glad you like it.” He sits even deeper in the sofa and Matt wonders for just a moment if his aggressive manspreading is really necessary, before realizing that is not a thing he wants to think too hard about. Steve changes the subject, apparently deciding that particular line of questioning had been exhausted. Matt wonders if he won the conversation. “So. How are things going? Better than the last time we spoke?”

A million answers to Steve’s question race through his mind in an instant, ranging from “yes, Captain America, sir, thank you for talking some sense into me” to “mind your own fucking business and stay away from James, he’s mine!” He finally settles on “things are going well” when he hears James’s sharp intake of breath from across the room. The air ripples as James moves towards them, and Matt can feel his strong muscles tensing. He can hear the plates in James’s arm as they shift and recalibrate. He can smell James’s anxiety.

“Steve?” 

Steve turns his head to look up at Bucky and smiles. “Hey, Buck. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” Bucky’s voice is cautious and guarded. He turns to Matt, and Matt can feel him relax. His right hand brushes against Matt’s, and it’s warm and comforting. “You wanna come help me and Sam in the kitchen?”

“I’m ok,” Matt replies with a smile. No way is he running away to the kitchen, because this is a fight and he’s never backed down from a goddamned fight once in his life. He can sit here in front of a beautiful Christmas tree that he can’t see and make fake pleasant small talk with the man who broke James’s heart into a million pieces. And the shitty thing is - the thing that Matt knows will keep him awake that night - is he’s just so fucking thankful for all the messed up things that Steve Rogers has done to James Barnes. It’s not just that he’s thankful that Steve left James to fuck off in the past, and he knows that’s bad enough. Oh no, it’s  _ much _ worse than that. He’s thankful that Steve was selfish and kept James at the front lines after he’d been tortured and should by all rights have gotten to go home. He’s thankful that James fell from that train and that Steve didn’t jump after him. Matt is thankful that Steve left James to get captured by Hydra, and he knows that there’s no amount of Hail Mary’s that will absolve him from that. He’s done a lot of terrible things in his life, but he knows that’s the one that is sending him to hell because he’s not even sorry. He knows it’s selfish. He knows he’s selfish. He’s so fucking selfish because he’s thankful for everything this man has been through just for the fact that it brought them together. 

James’s hand is still resting on his own and he picks it up and presses fingertips to his lips. James had cleaned up - he’s no longer covered in soda bread ingredients - but he still tastes like flour and baking soda and raisins. It mixes with his natural flavor - sweet and salty and oaky all at the same time, and Matt can’t resist. His he grazes his teeth against the tip of James’s finger.

Matt feels Steve react to that. His breath catches in his chest and his heart skips a beat. Steve clears his throat and excuses himself, moving to the other side of the room, and Matt knows it was wrong. He’s a guest in their home, and yet it’s another thing he can’t bring himself to be sorry for.

“You’ve got about two minutes left in the oven,” Matt says with a nod towards the kitchen, and he bites his lip to keep himself from sucking James’s finger into his mouth. 

Bucky ghosts his hand across Matt’s cheekbone, thumb and forefinger clasping Matt’s jaw gently and tilting it up. He presses his lips softly to Matt’s, holding the kiss a second longer than could reasonably be considered chaste, and then he’s gone. Bucky moves back to the kitchen and Matt is alone on the couch once again with the scent of Bucky’s arousal lingering on his skin and a smile on his face. 

The evening flows fairly smoothly after that. Dinner is served and it is absolutely fantastic. In addition to the cornish hens, Sam has made jambalaya, two different salads, mashed potatoes, candied yams, and a huge pan of macaroni and cheese. Pepper brought two standing rib roasts, shrimp cocktail, scalloped potatoes, and what seems to be a never ending supply of deviled eggs, all of which Matt is fairly confident she had catered from the same place Danny likes to call on. There are at least ten pies, plus three cakes, plus a whiskey bread pudding. Steve gets all choked up when Bucky presents him with the soda bread, saying it tastes exactly like when his Ma made it, and from what Matt can tell he’s not lying. Sam explains the baking soda fiasco, and Steve thanks Matt profusely and sincerely for saving the day. Next to him, Matt can feel Bucky beaming. 

After dinner everyone retires to the seating area. A new movie is turned on, featuring the same talking animals (Matt is informed that it is  _ Winter Friends Part 2 _ ). Bucky snags a corner seat on the large sectional, and tucks Matt into his side. And that is where the evening might have ended, if it wasn’t for Morgan Stark.

“BUT MOMMMMM!!!!!” Morgan’s voice fills the large room in the way only a five year old’s whines can. Matt sits up from where he was close to falling asleep, wrapped up in Bucky’s right arm. “WE HAVEN’T OPENED THE PRESENTS!!!!!”

“There aren’t presents, sweetheart,” Pepper says gently. Matt smiles softly as he listens to Pepper run her fingers through Morgan’s hair, soothing her. 

Morgan pulls away, standing up taller. “Yes there are! I looked! There are presents for everybody and one has my name on it and I think we should open them tonight.”

Pepper stutters, clearly unsure. “Who are those from?” she asks the room, gesturing to the presents under the tree. 

Nobody answers. 

“Look!” Morgan breaks away and rushes to the tree. She picks up a box and shakes it. It rattles pleasantly. “This one is for me!” She sets it aside and picks up another box. “And this one is for Uncle Clint, and this one is for…” she squints down at the box and then shows it to Rhodey. “What does it say?” she whispers.

“That says Pepper. That one is for your mama,” Rhodey whispers back. 

“See!” Morgan exclaims proudly. “There are presents for all of us. We need to open them!”

“But who are they from?” Sam repeats the question. “Steve?”

Steve shakes his head  _ no _ . Matt can tell he isn’t lying. Nobody seems to be holding back.

For a second, Matt is nervous. If the presents weren’t from any of them, who could they be from? Could it be a trap? He breaks his “no peeking” rule for the second time that day, and gives the presents a quick once-over. There’s nothing electronic, nothing poisonous, nothing that feels like a bomb. 

“FRIDAY, can you scan the presents and make sure they’re safe?” Bucky asks, obviously on the same train of thought as Matt.

The reply comes almost immediately: “There are no security risks detected.” 

“But who left them,” Pepper asks.

The AI pauses longer than normal. Then, almost coyly Matt thinks, it replies: “The request has been made that I not reveal that information, as it would, and I quote, ‘wreck all the fun.’ I can say that they are from a friend.”

“A friend who isn’t here?” Sam asks.

“That is correct.”

“FRIDAY,” Pepper’s voice breaks and Matt can tell she’s on the verge of tears although he doesn’t quite know why. “Are these… somehow… did he… are…?”

“No, boss,” the AI interrupts. “Although, the gift giver was aware of that tradition and wanted to continue it.” 

Pepper nods and wipes a tear from her eye. There is a moment’s pause, and then she says “well Morgan, sweetheart, why don’t you pass out the presents, since you found them.”

She does, with help from Rhodey who reads her the names she doesn’t recognize. While she’s working Matt turns to Bucky, voice low: “Why is Pepper so upset?”

“It was a tradition,” Bucky replies. “I… It started way back when the Avengers moved into the tower - the first Christmas after the battle of New York. Tony got gag gifts for everyone. It became a big thing; real important to him. Even after… Even once I… He sent us stuff, even when we were on the run. Even when he and Steve hadn’t talked for the entire year, on Christmas Eve there would be a box with dumb gifts in it. They showed up for me in Wakanda. No return address; no shipping info - he probably had a drone drop them off or something. Every year, like clockwork. Last year was the first year he missed.” Bucky takes a deep breath and Matt feels him calm himself, and then Morgan is there dropping presents into both of their laps.

“Who should go first?” Steve asks, once all the presents have been handed out.

“MEEEE!!!!!” Morgan squeals, tearing into the paper to reveal a Captain Marvel action figure. “SO COOL!” she exclaims, immediately flying the doll around the room. Monica goes second and opens a Thor action figure, and soon the two are flying together. 

“So not gag gifts then?” Matt says quietly.

“I don’t know…” Clint answers from Matt’s other side. “Or do you just not give a gag gift to a little kid?”

As it turns out, Clint is right. His box contains a small metal statue of cupid, pulling back an arrow with a heart shaped tip. Matt opens his present to find a large flashlight which, according to the inclosed paper printed (helpfully) in braille, was the brightest flashlight currently on the market, and Bucky’s box contains a single arm warmer… specifically for his left arm. Sam gets birdseed, Pete and Scott each get a can of raid, Rhodey gets a “Give Peace a Chance” coffee mug, and Stephen opens a “Magic for Dummies” book. Steve snorts and laughs when he finds a life alert bracelet nestled in blue tissue paper and, after Peter Quill opens a tiara with stars covering it, Matt stops paying attention.

Instead, Matt brings his focus to the wrapping paper in his hands. He lifts it to his nose and breathes in deeply.

“That’s creepy as hell, man,” Clint says quietly, moving to take the paper out of Matt’s hands. 

“Shut up,” Matt says, pulling the paper out of Clint’s reach. He runs it through his fingers, holds it up to his face again and very carefully, very quickly, darts out his tongue and licks it.

“Well now you’re just fucking with me.”

“Did you do this?” Matt is deadpan. 

“I didn’t,” Clint replies quickly and honestly, and with a hint of concern.

“Did you?” Matt asks, turning to Bucky.

“What?” Bucky gawks at him. “Of course not. You know I didn’t.”

Matt shakes his head and smells the wrapping paper again. He takes Bucky’s and does the same. “This paper spent a significant amount of time in your apartment. At least a week.” 

“You can’t possibly know that,” Rhodey interjects from the other side of the couch.

“Oh, he does,” Clint responds. “It’s weird and creepy, but he knows. He’s like an angsty bloodhound.” 

“Fall off of any good buildings recently?” Matt asks, giving Clint a nod of his head.

“Oh, right, Murdock. That’s real rich coming from you.”

“Ok, kids, break it up,” Bucky interrupts. “If not Clint and not me - and I assume you know we’re not lying - ” 

Matt nods in confirmation.

“He can’t know that!” Rhodey says again with a laugh.

“He does!” Bucky and Clint reply in unison.

“If not Clint and not me,” Bucky continues. “Then who?”

The room falls silent. Matt stands up and walks over to where Steve is sitting in an oversized chair. “May I see your bag?” Matt asks, holding out his hand, and Steve places the bag into it. Matt sticks his nose into the bag like he’s smelling a glass of wine and breathes in deeply.

“So fucking weird…” Rhodey mutters, and Bucky balls up his wrapping paper and bounces it off of his head.

Matt turns back to Bucky and Clint. “Is it possible that one of you told Wade?” he asks. “The tissue paper… it holds scent better than wrapping paper and… I mean, I could be wrong, but…”

“But you’re not,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “You’re not wrong. I talked to Wade about it. I did. It was…” he snaps his fingers a few times in front of his face, trying to remember. “You and Frank were playing that dumb shooter game,” he says to Clint. “I was talking to Wade about holiday traditions. I barely mentioned it…”

Matt returns the bag to Steve and sits back down next to Bucky.

“FRIDAY?” Pepper prompts.

“Yeah, boss,” the AI replies. “Since Mr. Murdock and Mr. Barnes figured it out, I can confirm that the presents were delivered by one Wade Wilson. He said to say hi.” 

“And then where did he go?” Pepper asks, concerned. 

There is a pause. Then, “The security feed at Mr. Barton’s apartment complex shows him returning there this afternoon, boss.”

“Is your other roommate there?” Pepper asks. “Mr. Castle?”

Matt shakes his head. “He and Karen decided to get out of the city. They left a few days ago.”

“So he’s there alone?” There is a pause, and Matt realizes that Pepper is watching Morgan and Monica, who are still flying their dolls happily around the room, unaware of the somber mood that has settled over everyone else. 

“Happy,” Pepper finally says. “It’s a lot to ask but…”

“I’m on it,” Happy says, without her needing to finish. 

“I’ll come with.” May stands to join him.

“You don’t have to. It’s late and…”

“You need the company to keep you awake,” May interrupts. “Plus he doesn’t know you and he’s stubborn. He spent a lot of time over by us watching Pete, learning how he moved so he could imitate him. He’ll come if I ask him to.”

“Wait,” Carol says, just as the two are moving towards the door. “I’ll go. I can be back the fastest.”

“But you’ve never even met him,” May complains. 

“Yeah, but from everything I’ve heard about the guy, I doubt he’ll turn me down.”

“No…” Matt says tentatively. “But he will make it weird. You need to expect that.”

Carol laughs. “I can handle weird.” She kisses Maria and then is gone. The room is silent again, except for the sounds of the kids playing. 

“Alright, Little Miss,” Pepper says, scooping the young girl up into her arms as she runs by. “It’s time to go to bed, or Santa will fly right by without stopping to deliver presents.”

“Everyone has to go to bed!!!!” Morgan cries. “If anybody is awake, Santa won’t come!!”

“You’re right, sweetheart.” Pepper kisses Morgan’s forehead. “Everyone has to go to bed. And they will. Now come on, let’s get you tucked in.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per comics canon, Matt Murdock is 100% a car guy and I love that. 
> 
> The line that Scott quotes about the stars is from Stardust, which is a little meta but I don’t care. 
> 
> PS: The movie version of Stardust is when I fell in love with Charlie Cox!
> 
> Also: WINTER FRIENDS!!!!!


	2. Christmas Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt wakes up first, James’s back hot against his chest. They had flipped at some point in the night, and Matt has a leg wrapped around James’s thigh and an arm draped over his waist. His nose is tucked into the back of James’s neck. It wasn’t uncommon for them to wake up like this, but it sent a red hot flame down Matt’s spine every time. Waking to find himself pressed up against James’s ass… well, to say it was hard was a bit of an understatement. 
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYBODY!!!

Matt wakes up first, James’s back hot against his chest. They had flipped at some point in the night, and Matt has a leg wrapped around James’s thigh and an arm draped over his waist. His nose is tucked into the back of James’s neck. It wasn’t uncommon for them to wake up like this, but it sent a red hot flame down Matt’s spine every time. Waking to find himself pressed up against James’s ass… well, to say it was hard was a bit of an understatement. 

Matt shifts his hips back, careful not to shake the bed, to help avoid James waking and realizing just how hard  _ it  _ was. 

And he didn’t think James would be offended. Of course he wouldn’t. He knew how much Matt wanted him. There is no doubt in Matt’s mind that, if James woke up and found him all worked up, he would gladly flip him over and pound him into the mattress. And it would be amazing. It would be everything. Matt has absolutely no complaints in that department. 

But sometimes, when he’s got James like this - soft and warm and pliant in his arms - he wants. God does he want. 

James doesn’t want that. Nothing that he’s ever said or done has given Matt any indication that he wants that. And that makes sense. Matt gets it. James spent 70 years without control of his body. Of course he wouldn’t want to hand that control over again, even to Matt. Matt doesn’t see it as an insult. He knows James loves him. They’re past that particular anxiety. And Matt loves how James takes care of him - keeping his over sensitive nerves on edge for longer than anyone he’d ever been with before. He would gladly give himself to James, over and over and over again, hopefully for the rest of his life. No complaints. No fucking complaints. 

But sometimes...

Carefully Matt untangles his arms and legs from James and pulls a bit further away, trying to will his body to calm down. He has no idea what time it is, which is his only regret about sleeping with someone. He doesn’t want to ask his phone, because he knows that would wake James. He’d gotten a braille alarm clock for when James stays with him, but it’s not something he travels with. 

James shifts in his sleep and Matt can feel his muscles ripple. The vibranium plates in his arm shift and realign sending shockwaves through the room, and Matt bites his lip and tries to stifle a groan. James smells so good and Matt feels like he’s going to lose his Goddamned mind. He wants to grab James’s hip and haul him close, bury himself in him and make them both see stars. 

Instead he slips out of bed and tiptoes to the bathroom. He turns on the shower and waits just long enough for it to warm up before stepping in. Immediately his hand is on his cock, and he’s so hard it hurts. His palm is rough, and he winces when the water from the shower isn’t enough to create the smooth slide he’s longing for. It takes every ounce of willpower he has to let go - his callused hand isn’t what he wants but it’s better than not being touched at all. He steps back out of the shower, dripping puddles on the floor, and begins to open drawers searching for the small bottle he would recognize anywhere. 

He finds it in the third drawer he checks, the familiar smell hitting him as soon as he opens the drawer and making him even harder. A Pavlovian response. He squeezes much more than can be considered necessary into the palm of his hand and high-tails it back to the shower. He grabs the base of his cock with his dry hand, trying to get himself under control, then he squeezes his tip with his lubed up hand. 

It’s tighter than he normally likes, because he knows James would be so fucking tight. He just stands there for a moment, still, feeling the tip of his cock throbbing in his lubed up fist, imagining what it would be like. He’d get James on his knees on his bed, hands up on the brick wall… or maybe he needed to invest in one of those ridiculous vibranium headboards. Matt’s cock twitches at the thought, and he squeezes down harder. Yeah, he’d get a headboard. A nice high one so that James can rest his arms on it and be comfortable, kneeling up with Matt behind him, leaving Matt’s hands free to roam all over that amazing body. 

Matt pushes forward into his hand, just a little, imagining what it would be like to push into James. He’d go slow. He’d go so fucking slow, make it so good for him. He wanted to feel James trembling in front of him. He wanted to hear him curse, then beg, then whimper as Matt showed him how good it could be. He’d make James feel so good. So fucking good. 

He pushes further into his fist, his free arm goes to the shower wall, and he rests his head against it. He’d run his hands all over James’s beautiful back, Matt thinks as he begins to move. His hand is still too tight as he fucks into it, and it feels so good. He knows just where James likes to be touched, knows just where to kiss the back of his neck. He’d grab him by the hair and pull his head to the side, exposing his throat, and he’d bite down on his pulse point. He’d run his fingernails down James’s spine, then wrap around to cup his pecs. 

Matt straightens up off the wall, quickening his pace. He brings his free hand from the wall to his chest, flicking at a nipple and twisting it between his finger tips, just how he knows James likes. It burns. James loves having his nipples played with, and Matt would tease him until he begged. Fingers moving fast then slow, soft touches mixed with sharp ones. He can almost hear James’s heartbeat racing. He imagines he can smell James’s arousal. He wonders if he could make him cry. He bets James is so fucking pretty when he cries, and he wishes he could see it. Still, he’d wipe the tears away and lick them off his own fingers, tasting the saltiness of it. He’d get James so close, and then he’d slow down - and Matt forces himself to slow his pace now, even though it physically hurts to do so. He’d drag his dick across James’s prostate, so slow. So fucking slow, while kissing his neck and stroking his chest. So close, but not quite enough. Not until James was trembling and whimpering and crying beneath him. And then, when he could feel that James was about to break, he’d slam into him. 

Matt slams into his own hand, hard, squeezing as tight as he can take.

Only then would he reach down and finally touch James’s cock. 

Matt changes his grip, stroking himself the way he knows James likes it. 

It wouldn’t take long. James would be so gone by that point. He’d press his thumb under the head of James’s cock and twist his palm over the crown. He’d move in time with his thrusts, just enough pressure, not stopping until…

Matt came with a gasp, his legs trembling underneath him, the scent of his own come filling the air. He imagined he could smell James’s mixed along with it. 

No. Scratch that. He  _ could  _ smell James. He  _ could  _ hear James’s heartbeat. 

_ Oh fuck. _

“Baby,” Bucky chokes out from outside the shower. “That was so fucking hot.”

Matt aims the shower head at where he had come on the wall and rinses it off. Then he shuts off the water and steps bashfully out of the shower. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wake you. I wasn’t sure what time it was.”

“Fuck, Matty. You can always wake me for that.” Bucky wraps his arms around Matt and draws him close, uncaring that Matt just got out of the shower and Bucky has come on his bare chest. Bucky is already hard again, and he grinds against Matt’s oversensitive skin. “I’m kinda glad you didn’t though,” he whispers in Matt’s ear, and he drags his teeth down Matt’s neck. “M’glad I got to watch that.” He bites down on Matt’s collarbone. His breath is ragged as he pushes into Matt’s thigh. “I need you, Matty. Don’t think I can take care of this without you.”

“Please,” Matt whispers. 

And then James’s spinning him around and pressing his palms down onto the cold counter. Matt hears the lube bottle opening, and feels one finger and then two press into him. James is quick, and it’s not enough, not really, before he’s pulling out his fingers and lining up his dick to press into Matt’s tight hole. Tears spring to Matt’s eyes and it’s too much. His skin is so oversensitive and he’s too tight. It hurts and it’s perfect. It’s painful and it burns and Matt never wants it to stop. 

Matt thinks he might be saying something. His mouth is moving and he thinks he might be begging and he can hear that a stream of profanity is falling from James's lips but his brain can’t process any of it thanks to the sound of the blood rushing in his ears and James’s cock pounding into his ass. He’s limp and boneless, sprawled out on the bathroom counter, and he’s pretty sure he’s losing time. He thinks, for just a second, that this might be it. This might be how he dies. And he couldn’t be happier because he’s in love and everything is perfect and what he wants to do to James has absolutely no bearing on what he wants James to do to him. 

The next thing he’s aware of is lying in the bed, head resting on Bucky’s shoulder. Matt’s not sure how they made it back into the bedroom, but he’s clean and mostly dry. His ass is sore and he feels completely and totally relaxed. 

“Hey there,” Bucky says, brushing the hair back off of Matt’s forehead. “You with me again?”

Matt nods. “What time is it?” he asks after a moment.

“It's almost 5.”

“How long was I…?” Matt trails off.

“About 20 minutes. What were you thinking about in there?”

“You,” Matt answers honestly if not thoroughly.

Bucky laughs. “I should hope so, with the noises you were making. Wanna tell me what about me? Maybe we can make your wildest fantasies come true.”

Matt shakes his head. “They already have. This is it, right here.” He grabs Bucky’s left arm and wraps it around his body.

“You’re such a sap.” They lay in silence for a few more minutes. “Do you want to get up?” Bucky finally asks. "I don’t think I’m going to fall back asleep.”

“Yeah,” Matt agrees. “My sleep cycle is still all messed up from Wakanda. It feels closer to noon than 5.”

“I’m starving,” Bucky says, as he gently rolls Matt off of him. He stands and finds them both clothes, lying a pair of black sweatpants and a long-sleeved red shirt covered in tiny black Christmas trees on the bed in front of Matt. He pulls on a sleeveless shirt and then a cozy grey sweatshirt with a big red snowflake in the shape of a star on the front. “How does this sound as a plan? We go grab the presents out of the car, then sneak into the common room and drink Sam’s fancy coffee and open presents under the tree. I’d be surprised if anyone else is awake.”

There’s a hitch in Bucky’s breath that tells Matt how important this is to him, and Matt wonders how many Christmases the man has really gotten to celebrate. He smiles and sits up, pulling on the clothes he’s been given. “Yeah, of course. That sounds great.” 

***

_ Of course other people are awake,  _ Bucky thinks as they walk into the common room.  _ Goddamn super heroes waking up so fucking early all the time. It’s unnatural.  _

He wishes Matt would have told him - would have warned him that other people were here. Matt would have known the others were up - he would have been able to tell way back when they were still in their own room. They could have stayed in their room and opened presents in peace. It would look weird to leave now. Plus Matt is wearing this soft, dopey smile that he can’t quite place and practically pulling him to take a seat by the tree. 

“Coffee first,” he says, and for a moment Matt looks like he’s torn between his desire to force whatever festivities he’s dreaming up and his desire to drink coffee. 

Coffee wins. Coffee always wins. 

Steve is there, because of course he’s always the first to be fucking awake - old age hasn’t mellowed that habit at all - and he’s reading a newspaper at the counter. “Merry Christmas Buck, Matt,” he says with a nod and a smile. But the smile looks forced, and Bucky thinks he looks tired around the eyes. 

“Merry Christmas Steve,” he says back. “Merry Christmas, Sam!”

Sam grunts his reply, already in the kitchen setting up to make waffles. He pours Matt and Bucky each a mug of coffee, and he and Matt groan in unison when Bucky dumps three spoonfuls of sugar into his. 

“Man, you’re ruining it,” Sam says with an eye roll, which Bucky pointedly ignores in favor of rummaging around in the fridge. “What are you even looking for in there?” He asks. “The cream is on the counter.”

Bucky ignores him, continuing to paw at the contents of the fridge. “Ah-ha!” He finally shouts, emerging with a canister of whipped cream. 

“What are you…? Aww man, that’s just nasty,” Sam says, as Bucky squirts an excessive amount of whipped cream into his mug.

“What?” Bucky asks, blinking innocently and grinning. “It’s festive. And it’s just cream and sugar. People put cream and sugar in their coffee. Makes it taste good!”

“It already tastes good,” Matt says, laughing. 

“Makes it taste better!” Bucky sets his mug down and opens the refrigerator to put the whipped cream away.  _ Ah, what the hell,  _ he thinks, and he squirts another dollop of cream onto his finger. He turns and quickly deposits the whipped cream onto Matt’s nose before Matt can realize what’s happening. Steve doesn’t move, but Bucky can’t help but notice his eyes dart up from the paper as Bucky steps into Matt’s personal space and licks the whipped cream off of his nose. “Makes you taste better too,” he says quietly. 

Matt blushes all the way from his forehead to where his neck disappears into his shirt. 

“Nice,” a voice comes from behind him. “I also like adding whipped cream to thinks that are dark and pleasantly bitter. Think I could have a taste?”

“Not on your life, Wade,” Bucky replies, turning to face him. 

“Eh. Can’t blame a guy for trying, can you? How about you, Hot Wings?” He nods at Sam. “Got anything sweet that needs licking?”

“What the hell is wrong with you people?” Sam says, focusing even harder on his bowl of waffle batter. 

“Merry Christmas, Wade,” Matt says, stifling a laugh, and then he takes Bucky’s hand and leads him back out to the tree. 

They sit on the floor next to the tree at Matt’s urging “because,” he says, “that’s where you open Christmas presents.” It’s a little weird, but Bucky likes it and, yeah, maybe they’re both recreating a little bit of the childhood neither of them ever really got to have. Christmas was a minimalist affair during the depression, and Bucky suspects it wasn’t a huge event at the orphanage, either. 

There aren’t a ton of presents, but between the two of them it’s a nice sized pile. Matt gives Bucky some fancy, lightly citrusy scented pomade for his hair, and Bucky gives Matt some ergonomic kitchen utensils. 

They both got the other books - Matt got Bucky a few science fiction novels, and Bucky got Matt a book in Braille about boxing champions from New York. (“Check it out, baby. All the pictures are raised, so you can feel the images. And…” Bucky flips quicker through the pages until he finds the one he’s looking for. “...here.” Matt runs his fingers over the page, and Bucky can see the tears in his eyes as he recognizes his father’s face. “I’m in there too,” Bucky says after a moment, “but you get to touch my dumb mug all the time.”)

Bucky gives Matt a red cashmere scarf and a pair of super soft fleece lined leather gloves, and Matt gives Bucky a thick, warm angora sweater. (“It’s so soft,” Matt says, absentmindedly rubbing the sleeve between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off of you when you’re wearing it.”)

They’re sitting quietly by the tree, finishing their second mugs of coffee, when Bucky finally speaks. The way Matt’s been sitting there, holding his hand, waiting quietly but expectantly, Bucky knows he knows there’s something else. Sometimes - rarely, but sometimes - he wishes he could get away with having a secret. If he could, he’d probably do this somewhere else. 

“Matty…” his voice shakes a little. “Matt, I love you. I’m pretty sure you know that already. But when this whole thing started with us, I never expected this. Never expected us to get to this point. Never thought I’d be here again.”

Bucky glances over to the kitchen, where Steve is aggressively reading his paper. Being on the floor and partway hidden behind the sectional gives them some privacy, but it’s not enough. Matt must notice the uptick in Bucky’s already racing heart, because he reaches out and takes Bucky’s hand.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

“No, no. It’s okay.” He considers Steve one more time. Fuck it. Let the bastard see this. Bucky has moved on and he’s not going to avoid living his life the way he wants to just because it might hurt Steve Rogers’s feelings. They’ve been through too much. Steve should be happy for him, and - well - if he’s not, that’s Steve’s problem and not his. Bucky pulls off his sweatshirt to reveal the tank top underneath.

“Dude, put your shirt back on. Nobody wants to see that.”

“Shut up, Sammy boy. Speak for yourself. I absolutely want to see that,” Wade retorts.

Bucky closes his eyes and takes a breath, willing himself to do this in front of everyone.

“Give me your hand, baby.”

He hears more than one gasp from the room, and smirks. He’s crazy, but not so crazy as to do  _ that _ just yet. He intentionally grabs Matt’s  _ right _ hand.

“So, when you were hurt...it made me realize a few things. I knew needed to earn your trust again, because I’d doubted you for so long. And I wanted a way to show you just how much I trust you, how much I trust  _ in _ you. We...you were unconscious, but Shuri was still able to do this for me.”

Bucky guides Matt’s hand up to his armpit, up to where the thumbprint scanner is, for the latch that would release his arm.

“I trust you, Matty.” He presses Matt’s thumb to the scanner. “I trust you with everything.” His arm falls into Matt’s lap. 

Matt jumps up as if Bucky's arm is a snake, and it clatters noisily to the floor. “Jesus, James!” Matt gasps. “Warn me next time.”

Everybody is staring now, and Bucky can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, because of course Matt wasn’t expecting that. Of course he’d been startled. And then Matt is laughing too, and apologizing for ruining Bucky’s romantic gesture. He sits back down on the floor, facing Bucky, both with crossed legs and their knees are pressed together. He picks the arm up off the floor. 

“Thank you,” Matt says quietly, setting the arm in his lap and running his fingers over it. “But are you sure? I mean, I know how much this means to you. Nobody can...” 

“Just me and Shuri,” Bucky says, after Matt trails off. “And now you.”

Bucky shows Matt how to clip his arm back into place, and then they sit in silence for several minutes, Matt’s fingers tracing the delicate grooves between the plates in Bucky’s hand. “I have something else for you, too…” Matt falters. “But it’s dumb. It’s not.. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” 

Bucky changes their grip carefully until he’s holding both of Matt’s hands with both of his own. He lifts Matt’s hand to his mouth and brushes his lips across Matt’s finger tips. “Baby, I just took off my arm and gave it to you. I think we’re past dumb.”

Matt is silent, chewing on his lower lip. “No, it doesn’t… it’s not even something I got for you. It’s not something I could get for you, even if I knew for sure that you wanted it. It’s just… it’s something I thought you might want to buy for yourself and that doesn’t make sense. I’m sorry.”

“Well now I’m intrigued.”

Matt squirms uncomfortably and Bucky squeezes his hands tightly. Matt sighs. “My landlord told me he’s going to sell the building,” he says tentatively. “Before he does, he’s giving everyone the chance to buy their units outright. The one next to me is vacant - unrentable. Has been since we got back. Lots of damage I guess. No heat, busted out pipes, shit like that. It’s so bad, it wasn’t worth the money to fix it up, even with what housing is going for these days. He told me, if I wanted, he’d sell me both at a discount. We could fix it up, knock out a wall…”

Bucky is silent, staring at him. 

“I know,” Matt hurries to continue. “It’s a stupid plan. The building is a dump and the unit needs too much work, I’m sure. Plus you don’t want to leave Brooklyn. I shouldn’t have…”

Bucky reaches his arm around Matt’s waist, and Matt makes a squawking noise as Bucky hoists him up into his lap. Bucky kisses him hard, oblivious to the wide-eyed stares they’re now getting. His hand splays wide across Matt’s back, supporting him, holding him close. “Matty,” Bucky gasps, barely able to pull away from the kiss long enough to get the words out. “You want me to live with you?”

“I mean… if you want to?”

Out of his peripheral vision, Bucky notices Steve stand up and leave the room. “Of course I want to, baby. We’ll fix it up so nice.” He pulls Matt even closer, whispering in his ear. “We can expand the bathroom - put in a shower that’s big enough for two. Doesn’t mean I’m going to give you any more room, though. I’m still gonna push you up against the wall. Maybe we can do whatever you were thinking about this morning...”

“Maybe I’ll push you up against the wall instead,” Matt growls. Then he freezes. 

Slowly, Bucky brings his right hand up to Matt’s shoulder. Matt is motionless, head buried in Bucky’s neck, and Bucky pushes him back just slightly, so he can stare into Matt’s face. “You want that, baby?” Bucky asks, cautiously. 

Matt doesn’t respond. 

Bucky is about to press the matter when Sam calls out from the kitchen. “Hey! If you two lovebirds are done with your PDAs, the waffles are ready!”

Matt extracts himself a little too quickly and jumps up to his feet, and Bucky follows. They take seats at the table with Sam and Wade, along with Clint, Scott, Stephen, and Thor, who had all come in at some point while Matt and Bucky were sitting on the floor. Clint has a coffee pot on the table in front of him, and Bucky grabs for it. 

“Hands off!” Clint shouts, snatching the pot away. He glares at Bucky, then cradles the coffee pot up to his mouth. “Shhh… it’s ok, baby,” Clint murmurs to the pot. “Did the bad man try to take you from me? You know I would never let that happen.” Clint takes a large gulp directly from the pot, and then makes a show of setting it down well out of Bucky’s reach. 

Bucky shakes his head. To his left, Matt is holding back a laugh and Sam is outright cackling.

“Give me your cup, man,” Sam says, wiping a tear out of the corner of his eye. He fills Bucky’s mug and everyone settles down to eat their breakfast. There are waffles and fruit and bacon and sausage. More teammates start to straggle in, and when Matt finishes his food, he heads over to the stove and starts making eggs to order.

“...it really was the most thoughtful thing,” Bucky overhears Pepper saying to Wade. “Thank you so much.”

“It was nothing. Thank you for sending the good Captain to come and get me. It was the ride of a lifetime, double entendre totally not intended.”

Bucky looks over at them. Wade is leaned up against a door frame. He is wearing the ugliest ugly Christmas sweater that Bucky has ever seen, and he has a pair of reindeer antlers attached to a headband on his head. 

But it’s what is above his head, hanging above the door, that catches Bucky’s eye. It’s subtle. It hadn’t been there the night before, and whoever hung it did a good job of making it blend in with the festive garland draped over the door frame. It’s possible that Wade had done it himself, or that he had at least noticed, but Bucky doesn’t think so. Wade wasn’t subtle. He liked to telegraph his bits, and that wasn’t what he was doing now. He wasn’t lounging under the door, begging everyone to look at him through his body language. In fact, now that Pepper has walked away, leading Morgan with her out of the common room, Bucky thought that Wade looked almost shy, out of his element, even in awe of having been invited to the Avengers’ Christmas gathering. 

Bucky knows that feeling. Even after everything they’ve been through together, he still gets it sometimes. 

“Above Wades head,” he whispers quietly, in a voice only for Matt’s ears. “Buried in the garland.”

Matt doesn’t move. His back is still towards Bucky and the room, but he tilts his head slightly and the hand working the eggs in the pan stills. He’s like that for just a moment, then he chuckles softly to himself and resumed his cooking. 

“Does he know it’s there?”

Matt pauses again, then shakes his head  _ no. _

“You or me?” 

Matt jerks his head at him.  _ You.  _

Bucky smiles a predatory smile and then rolls out his neck and shoulders, schooling his expression into one that he might have worn in a dance hall in the 30s. He slicks his hair back, then saunters over to where Wade is standing. “That was a real nice thing you did, Wade,” he says, allowing his Brooklyn drawl to fill his voice as thickly as possible. “Somebody might start to think you actually cared.”

Wade eyes him suspiciously and straightens up a bit, but he doesn’t move from his spot. “Nah. You know me. I just want to get on everyone’s good side; maybe get a few more jobs on the books. You guys pay, like, really well.”

“I do know you.” Bucky steps even closer and he can see Wade trying not to flinch. He grins, showing all his teeth. “In fact, I think I know something about you that you don’t know.”

“You’re freaking me out, kitten,” Wade says, starting to take a step out of the doorway. 

Bucky puts an arm out to stop him. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Matt has turned to face him. It’s not necessary by any means, Matt doesn’t need to be facing somewhere to know what’s going on there, but it accomplishes Matt’s goal. He’s projected where he wants everyone else to look, and by now the entire room is staring at Bucky and Wade. “Want to know what I know?”

“I think I’ll pass this time, but thanks!” 

Wade tries to go the other way and Bucky puts up his other arm, trapping Wade between his two arms, his body, and the closed door. Bucky leans forward, pushing even further into Wade’s space, and whispers darkly in his ear. “You’re standing under the mistletoe.”

Wade freezes, and before he has time to look up and see if Bucky is telling the truth, Bucky has him by the back of his head and he’s smashing their lips together. Wade is too shocked to react, but Bucky pushes his tongue into Wades mouth, making the kiss as filthy as possible as quickly as possible. Wade resists for a moment, then goes limp, simply allowing himself to be kissed. 

Bucky barely registers the catcalls in the background. Shouts of “Hot damn!” and “Get it!” ring out, but Bucky ignores them, focusing on the kiss, giving it everything he’s got, and when he pulls away, Wade is slack jawed with shock. Bucky pats Wade on the head, then turns to walk away. 

“Wait!” Wade yells out a few seconds later, finally regaining his bearings. “Please, sir! May I have some more?” 

“Sorry, Wade,” Bucky calls back. “Only one kiss per couple per mistletoe. Those are the rules! You’ll just have to wait until next year.” 

“What about me, then?” 

Bucky turns around to see Scott hip bumping Wade out from the doorway. He gives a lopsided grin, and Bucky thinks he’s probably trying to look seductive, but really he just looks like an oversized puppy dog. It’s adorable. Bucky shrugs, then walks back and wraps his right arm around Scott’s waist. He uses his left hand to cradle Scott’s head, and then dips him back until his body is almost parallel to the ground, kissing him hard and long and deep. When he lifts Scott back up, he’s gasping for breath. 

“Yeah, ok. Well. I mean… that’s something,” Scott says, swallowing hard and clearly dazed. “Thanks, man.” 

Clint shoves him to the side and takes his place under the door frame. He’s got his arms crossed in front of him and he looks impatient, like they’re keeping him from his one true love - coffee. 

Which, ok, they sort of are. 

“Clint...” Bucky says with a grimace. “I don’t know, pal. I feel like this is getting kind of weird. I think I need to call it quits...”

“Bold of you to assume I’m here for you.” Clint cuts him off before he can get all the words out. 

Bucky just blinks at him in confusion. 

Clint sighs as if he’s being put upon. “Listen, I’ve heard you two make out, nights I can’t get the hearing aids out fast enough. Always sounds like you’re the one getting the worst of it. If you can do this,” Clint gestures at Scott who has red lips and glassy eyes, and who still looks like he’s getting over a religious experience, “then I want to know what the asshole can kiss like.”

And now it’s Matt’s turn to look shocked. He turns towards Bucky as if asking for permission, and Bucky gestures towards Clint, palm up, open hand.  _ Go right ahead.  _

Matt grins as he walks towards Clint, taking off his glasses and handing them to Bucky as the two men pass. He steps up to Clint and reaches out a hand, drawing his thumb gently across Clint’s forehead, then down the side of his face. He caresses Clint’s cheekbone, lingering for just a moment to brush two fingers carefully over the slightest remains of a now almost healed cut, before continuing down Clint’s strong jawline. He traps Clint’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, then tilts his chin up before lightly pressing their lips together.

He leaves it like that for a moment, lips barely touching. Bucky knows that move. He knows that Matt is feeling Clint tremble underneath him and listening to his heartbeat, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Bucky’s watching for it, so he sees it happen. There’s a slight shudder in Clint’s chest as he gasps, and then suddenly Matt is impossibly closer to him, trapping Clint’s lower lip with his teeth, bringing his hand to rest gently around Clint’s throat, and licking into Clint’s mouth. Bucky knows exactly how that tongue feels when it’s brushing up against your lips and flicking against your teeth and he’s not jealous. He’s absolutely not jealous. But goddamn does he need that for himself, and soon.

Matt pulls away from Clint slowly, smoothing his thumb over Clint’s lips one last time as he goes, then turns to Bucky and smiles as if he knows exactly how much that affected him.

Which, of course, he does. 

Matt walks back to Bucky, and Bucky hands him his glasses and then wraps an arm protectively around his waist. 

“Holy forking shirtballs,” Clint mutters, stumbling over and dropping down next to where Scott and Wade are both sitting, dazed, on the couch. Scott mutters nondescript sounds of agreement and then lies down, resting his head in Clint’s lap. 

“This is a fantastic Midgardian tradition that I was not aware of,” Thor booms, stepping under the mistletoe. “I demand kisses from all!”

There is laughter, but Wade is the first to stand up and move towards him, and Bucky notices with amusement that Bruce isn’t far behind. Matt walks back to the stove and Bucky follows, hand never leaving the small of Matt’s back. “You about ready to get out of here?” he asks. 

“Almost,” Matt says. “I promised I’d make three more egg orders, and then we can go.” He turns the heat back on, waits just a moment, and then cracks four eggs into the pan. He tilts the pan back and forth slightly, allowing the eggs to slide as he cooks, then intentionally slides them all to one end, pauses for just a moment, then flicks his wrist. The eggs all flip over and land, perfectly, in the middle of the pan. 

“Show off.”

Matt smiles and allows them to cook for a few more seconds, then slides the eggs out of the pan and onto a plate. “Give these to Pete,” he tells Bucky, “then come back and get the next round.”

As much as he doesn’t want to leave Matt’s side, Bucky does as he’s told, delivering eggs to Pete, and then Carol, and then Stephen. In the background, he notices that Thor is still under the mistletoe, still demanding and receiving kisses, but Bucky can’t be bothered to care as he quickly ushers Matt out of the room, one hand back to the perfect dip above Matt’s perfect ass, the other carrying all their presents. And yeah, he’ll get shit later for ghosting without saying goodbye, but that is a problem for future Bucky. He leads Matt to their room, and can feel his confusion as he stuffs their few belongings and the presents into their bags and then drags Matt back out into the hallway. 

“But… don’t you want…” Matt stutters as Bucky pulls him along, towards the hanger where their car is parked. 

Bucky doesn’t answer; he just keeps them moving. He’s holding Matt’s hand firmly and has both of their bags hanging over his shoulder. When they get to the hanger, he quickly pops the trunk, throws the bags inside, and then slams it shut. He rips the driver side door open, doesn’t even pause to think about how much Tony would wince to see his car treated like that, and quickly drops into his seat and start the car. The passenger side opens, and a confused Matt starts to sit down next to him.

“No,” Bucky growls. “Get out.”

Matt’s eyes go wide but he does as he’s told, standing back up and closing the door gently behind him. “James?” he asks tentatively, as Bucky rises up out of his seat again, eyes locked on Matt on the other side of the car from him. 

It’s too much. Matt is too far away and he doesn’t have time to go around, so he goes over. He vaults the car in one leap, and Matt gasps as Bucky spins him around and pins his back against the passenger door, grinding into him. 

“Oh fuck,” Matt whispers, as Bucky grabs him by the waist and lifts him up easily, sliding his back across the side of the car and down the windshield until he’s lying on the hood, the engine purring beneath him. 

And Bucky is gone - animal instinct taking over - but he still pauses just long enough to watch as Matt’s eyes roll back in his head, the soft vibrations of the engine overwhelming his senses. “FRIDAY,” Bucky growls, as he pulls Matt’s pants off and then drops his own down around his ankles. “Lock the hanger down. Nobody gets in until after we’ve left.”

“You’ve got it, boss,” the AI answers cheerfully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wade did call dibs on Bucky's room, but it was under his breath and Bucky was distracted and didn't hear him. Matt heard him, of course.
> 
> Also, Please enjoy Comics Matt freaking out about sports cars:


	3. Boxing Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give SO MANY THANK YOUS to HaniTrash for her help Beta-ing this entire work (and this entire series) but especially this chapter. It fought me so hard, and it would not be this beautiful piece of smut without her help.

Bucky is laying on Matt’s couch -  _ our couch,  _ he reminds himself giddily - in his boxers and a t-shirt, feet up, a book open on his lap, drinking a venti double shot salted caramel mocha with extra whip, feeling slightly unsettled. In the background, baker Dan is being complimented on the French buttercream that he’s about to add to his rum cake, and isn’t that a laugh because “it’s a fucking Italian buttercream, Sandi! Can’t you see the egg whites instead of a pâte à bombe?!?” And yeah. It’s possible Bucky is yelling at the iPad he’s watching on (he needs to get a TV up in this place ASAP!) but one: who cares, and two: Dan’s buttercream was sure as shit going to fail because anyone could see his sugar syrup wasn’t hot enough. 

Bucky shakes his head and takes another sip of his coffee. It’s delicious, but it’s not calming him the way he wants it to. Matt had grabbed it for him before he’d headed to his office. Bucky had tried to reason with him, had told him that normal people did not work the day after Christmas, but Matt hadn’t listened and had instead abandoned the warmth of Bucky’s arms to venture out into the cold and snowy New York streets because he was mean a masochist a good lawyer who cared about his clients.

Bucky knew it was the right thing for him to do, but it still wasn’t fair. They had plans! Sure, those plans were to crank up the heat and lounge around in their underwear all day, necking like teenagers, but they were plans nonetheless. And then Matt’s stupid phone had rung and Bucky had known in an instant that he didn’t have a chance. He wasn’t sure what had happened exactly, just that some ass working for the District Attorney had bungled something and now Matt would have to fix it before he and Foggy could file their deposition… which they were apparently supposed to do the next day.

And Matt… Bucky could see how angry Matt had been. He’d raised his voice, just once, before taking a deep breath and settling, his hands flexing into fists but his tone calm. Whatever intern he was talking to at the DA’s office was probably shitting his pants but it had gotten Bucky all riled up. Matt sounded so strong, so powerful, so in control. Bucky’s mind flashed back to the day before when they were sitting under the tree and Matt had joked about pushing him up against the shower wall. It had been a joke… he was sure it must have been a joke. Matt didn’t want that. Nothing in their history indicated that Matt might want that. Anyone who had ever seen Matt fight could tell, without a doubt, that he was a top-tier masochist. He got off on it - on the violence and the pain - and he went absolutely wild when Bucky brought a little… or a lot… of that into the bedroom. He liked to be held down, manhandled, roughed up...

Bucky loves it. He loves how sensitive Matt is. He loves seeing how far he can push before Matt can’t take it anymore. He loves how pretty Matt is when he’s trying to hold it all together, how beautiful he is when he falls apart, and how good Matt makes him feel when he gets to put him back together. Bucky wouldn’t trade any of it… not for ten more lifetimes. 

But sometimes, when he watches Matt settle into that terrifyingly dead calm that Bucky knows means he’s about to absolutely destroy someone - whether in the courtroom dressed in a suit and tie, or in an alley dressed in all black - he wants that feeling for himself. He longs to be the one about to be destroyed. He wants to know what it would be like to be stretched open by those perfect fingers, always knowing exactly how and where to touch. What would it feel like to be the one taken apart? What it would feel like to have Matt inside of him?

Just thinking about it is making him more anxious, and he wishes again that Matt was there to help him calm down. He knows what he needs; he just wants Matt there to help him get it.

Bucky huffs out a breath and fumbles with the iPad for a moment before shutting it off. He knows he's a deviant and a monster, but he's not about to jack it to the Great British Bake Off. Even he wouldn’t stoop that low!! 

He leans back into the couch, lets his right hand drift down into his shorts, and begins to stroke himself lazily. He’s already half hard, but he knows before he even gets started that this isn’t what he wants. His body aches for something else… something it hasn’t ached for in a long time. 

Bucky stands and stretches, rolling out through his neck and shoulders. He runs a hand roughly though his hair then looks around and grunts out his displeasure, reminding himself for the 127th time to get a damn mirror for the apartment. And a clock. He shuffles into the bedroom, trying to remember where he’d dropped his phone, and then checks the time. It’s only been 45 minutes since Matt left. He’d warned Bucky that he’d be gone for at least two hours - probably more like three. Bucky stands there for a few minutes, then shrugs and walks into the bathroom, shedding his few articles of clothing as he goes. 

Once there he pauses, staring at the person looking back at him from the mirror. It’s not bad. It’s still never exactly who he expects to see, but he’s at least starting to feel like this man - the man with the shoulders a little broader than he expects and the eyes a little sadder, not to mention the most obvious change - is actually him. He was 27 when he’d fallen off of that train. All things considered, he figures he’s probably about 35 now, at least in terms of years awake. He  _ should _ look older than he did then. He just wishes he had taken a different route to get here. 

Bucky lets his fingertips trace along the scars on his left shoulder. He heals fast, but these never healed and he knows they never will. 

Even after they were together, it had taken Matt months to touch his scars. When he finally had, Bucky had flinched away…

> _ “You don’t have to…” _
> 
> _ Matt pulled back his hand so it was hovering over Bucky’s shoulder, tentative, respectful, waiting to hear what Bucky had to say.  _
> 
> _ “If you don’t want to,” Bucky continued. “You don’t have to touch them.” _
> 
> _ Matt cocked his head to the side. He was naked in James’s bed, his dark hair messy and his lips kissed red and swollen. “You think I don’t want to?” _
> 
> _ Bucky nodded and looked away. He knew hiding his expression wasn’t going to hide what he was feeling, but he tried anyway. Matt couldn’t see the pain in his eyes regardless, but Bucky knew he could feel it. “You don’t. You avoid them.” _
> 
> _ “Oh, James…” Matt whispered. “No. I’m so sorry. It’s not that… It’s not… You’re right. I do avoid them, but that’s not why.” _
> 
> _ Bucky watched Matt struggle to find words, and he was filled with an overwhelming desire to hide his body - his traitorous body that diagramed everything that had been done to him - away from a man who couldn’t even see it.  _
> 
> _ “I know what it’s like to be noticed for the wrong reasons. People, they sometimes… they want to fetishize the blindness. It makes me different, which makes me somehow more desirable. I don’t want to do that to you. But your scars… And it’s not just the scars, either. It’s not just the variations in your skin or how your body temperature changes across them…” Matt’s fingers began to trace over Bucky’s shoulder, feather light. “It’s everything inside too, where metal and wire meets flesh and bone… it’s… I could get lost in it. The people who did this to you are monsters - they’re evil - and I would never want to say anything that might sound like I didn’t believe that with every ounce of my being. But this…” He flattened his hand out again, laying it right over the line where metal met flesh. “...This is beautiful.”  _

When Matt was there - when Matt looked at him with those sightless eyes that saw more of him than anyone else ever had - Bucky almost believed it. 

He drags his fingers across his chest and between his pecs, imagining that it was Matt who was touching him, imagining that Matt was standing behind, him running his perfect hands across Bucky’s broken body. It was only when Matt was touching him that he felt fully whole, fully human, fully a person and not part machine. Not a weapon. His hand lingers on his abs, then he splays his fingers wide and continues down, curving across his hip and over his thigh, coming to rest just below the swell of his ass. He looks up, catches his own eye in the mirror, and bites his lower lip. 

_ It’s been a long time,  _ he thinks to himself.

_ Maybe you’ve lost your touch,  _ a voice in his head answers.  _ You’re not as young and flexible as you used to be. _

_ Fuck you,  _ he thinks back at the voice.

_ That’s the plan, right? _

Bucky huffs out a laugh and turns on the shower, giving one more wry look at the man in the mirror before grabbing a bottle of lube off of the counter and stepping under the hot water. 

He knows he doesn’t have a lot of time. Matt’s water heater is unreliable at best, and an enormous piece of shit at worst. That was one of the first things they were going to have to change, and he makes a mental note to look into options for replacing it tomorrow. For now, it just means he needs to be efficient. 

He covers his right index finger in lube and then reaches behind his body, finger pressing at the rim, remembering what it felt like to be touched like this. The voice in his head is right; it has been a long time. 

“Fuck!” Bucky drops his hands to his side and rests his head against the shower wall. His fingers were not Matt’s, and this wasn’t what he wanted. Yeah, sure, he’d opened himself up for Steve, but that was more about the presentation than the experience. Steve had gotten off on it, and that had been what had excited Bucky. He wants Matt. Matt’s fingers. Matt’s cock. Not his own arm twisted around at an awkward angle in a shower that he knows is going to go cold long before he has time to finish. 

He changes gears, washing his hair and his body - making sure to pay special attention to removing any traces of lube from his skin. The last thing he needs is Matt sniffing out what he’s been up to when he hasn’t even  _ done  _ anything. He dries off and gets dressed, loose sweatpants and a white tank with a soft, long sleeved shirt pulled over. He’s in the kitchen, just starting to search for a snack, when his phone rings. 

“Step away from the fridge!” Matt commands before Bucky can even say hello. 

Bucky shuts the refrigerator door. “You spying on me, counselor?” 

Matt laughs, and Bucky can hear it through the line and at the end of the hallway. He sticks his head out the apartment door and sees Matt walking towards him. “Ugh,” he says into the phone, ducking back into the apartment. “I gotta go. My boyfriend is almost home and if he catches me talking to you he’ll have my ass.” Bucky winces at his choice of words and hopes Matt doesn’t notice. 

Matt laughs again, and then Bucky hears the line click closed as Matt’s walking through the door. Bucky has a brief moment of panic as a look of confusion flashes across Matt’s face, but it vanishes almost instantly as Matt is stepping into his space and they’re kissing, arms wrapping around each other’s bodies. 

Matt is the one to break apart, and he steps back as if taking Bucky in. 

“You got dressed.”

Bucky looks down at what he’s wearing and shrugs. “I mean, just barely. And you started it. Anyway, it could be very easily undone.”

“No,” Matt smiles. “It’s good. I want to take you somewhere.”

“Where?” Bucky looks at Matt. He didn’t dress for court or anything like that, but he’s still much more put together than Bucky is. 

“To lunch. Nowhere fancy. And then maybe…” Matt hesitates, and Bucky gets the feeling he’s being assessed. “Maybe a few rounds in the ring?”

Bucky nods quickly, his mind racing. He wasn’t going to fuck this up again. 

They have a light lunch at Foggy’s brother’s shop. It’s good, and it's enough to keep their energy up, but not enough to make either of them sleepy or sluggish. Bucky doesn’t feel that hungry anyway. He feels nervous, anxious in a way he can’t quite explain, like there’s something trying to claw into the back of his skull. He hates when he feels this way, and he hates even more that - after all this time - he still can’t seem to find a way to break out of it. 

It’s not that cold, so after lunch they walk the short distance to Fogwells. The sky is clear. Matt has his cane folded up and his hand tucked in the crook of Bucky’s elbow, and to anyone else it would look like Bucky is guiding him, but it is Bucky who is being lead. Bucky allows his vibranium fingers to drift back and forth across Matt’s knuckles, trying to ground himself. He can feel it working. As they walk, he feels the anxiety draining out of him. By the time they near Fogwell’s, he feels almost dreamlike. His mind clouds as he walks the familiar streets, and he settles into it. It feels good to let his mind shut off; not to be on high alert all the time. He is confident that Matt is aware; that Matt will notice anything that might threaten them with time to respond. 

They arrive at Fogwell’s, and Bucky watches in silence as Matt unlocks the battered red door and he walks through when it’s held open for him. Matt makes almost no noise as he moves comfortably around the space, hanging their coats and gathering supplies, and Bucky loses himself for a moment in the muted yellow light filtering in through the large windows. 

“You with me?” Matt runs a hand down Bucky’s arm. His touch is grounding, and Bucky leans into it. Matt interlaces their fingers and raises them to his lips, kissing Bucky’s knuckles. The air in the building is surprisingly warm, but Bucky shivers despite it. 

“I want you to know that I’m really looking forward to this,” Matt says quietly. He’s still holding their hands near his mouth, and his lips brush the back of Bucky’s hand as he speaks. He brings his other hand to Bucky’s face, brushing the hair off of Bucky’s forehead and allowing his forefinger to stray down his cheek. He gently cups Bucky’s chin, brushing his thumb across the light stubble there. “But we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I know you love me. You don’t have to prove anything.”

Matt’s touch is even more electric than usual, and Bucky struggles to focus on what he’s saying - reminding himself why they’re there and pushing away the fantasies, lingering from that morning, that spring unbidden into his mind. He forces a smile and wills his voice to sound casual. He’s almost successful. “Of course not, baby. I’m just glad you brought me back. I know I messed up last time.”

“It’s forgotten,” Matt mutters darkly as he leans in to kiss Bucky and, without knowing why, Bucky feels himself tremble.

And then, just like that, the mood changes. Matt claps his hands together as he pulls away and is smiling brightly. He leads Bucky, pulling him by one hand, up into the ring. He hands Bucky a roll of tape, and Bucky begins to wrap his hands. He feels relaxed and energized, and suddenly very, very aware. All traces of the mental fog and doubt that had plagued him all day evaporate in a second. 

“Ok,” Matt says, and Bucky can’t help but think he looks downright giddy at this point. “So, I know that you were worried about hurting me last time.”

“I’m sorry…”

“No,” Matt interrupts, grinning. “It’s ok. That’s valid. You’re a super soldier and I’m not. You are definitely stronger than I am, and I appreciate your worrying about me. Anyway, I really hope you don’t mind but mentioned it to Pete once, and he said something to Shuri and...” Matt turns and pulls a pair of goggles out of a bag he’s set on the floor behind him “... they made me these. Or, they made you these? They made us these.” 

Bucky takes the goggles and slides them over his head. For a moment everything is black, and then he feels Matt’s fingers at his temples, adjusting something there. The goggles spring to life and he’s seeing shades of red and orange and black. He can’t see Matt’s face, but he can see his outline, darkness where his eyes should be, a swell for his mouth. And… and It almost looks like flames are sweeping across his shoulder. 

“Baby…” Bucky gasps. “Is this what you see?”

Matt laughs and it’s startling to hear the sound without seeing the face. He takes Bucky’s hand, and Bucky has never been more grateful for the physical contact in his life. “Honestly, I have no way to know. I described it to them as best I could, and that’s what they made, but I didn’t have any way to check it. Putting these on doesn’t change anything for me.” Matt steps away and Bucky misses him desperately. When he comes back, he’s taking Bucky’s hands and lacing him into his gloves. “Plus it’s not really fair. I think everything you’re getting is based on heat. I tried to tell them there was more to it, but apparently it’s hard to capture microscopic changes in air pressure and things like that. Plus you’re not getting any of the sound or smell aspects. Still, hopefully it feels like the scales are a little more balanced?”

Bucky nods, looking around the room and trying to get his bearings.

“You don’t have to…” Matt finishes lacing up Bucky’s gloves and begins to work on his own.

“No. No, this is really fucking cool.”

Matt laughs again, and Bucky hears the sound of leather on leather. “Alright, then.” Matt says from behind him. “Are you ready?” 

***

Matt’s first thought when he walks through the door is that James has been busy, which, to be fair, he has absolutely no problem with. James’s super-soldier-stamina is something else and, while he doesn’t mind putting in the effort trying to keep up with it, he also doesn’t object to James handling a round or three on his own. But then… Matt pauses. Something is wrong. James isn’t calm… like, at all. In fact, he seems to be wired extra tightly which doesn’t make sense with what it smells like he’s been doing. The second thing he notices is that the skin on James’s hands smells only faintly of lube but very strongly of soap, and it’s been rubbed raw, as if James has been trying to wash the smell off - to hide. But why would he? He knows that Matt doesn’t care. The third thing he notices is that James has noticed him noticing, and that it’s making him more anxious by the second. 

Matt smiles, steps forward, and pulls James into an embrace. He kisses James, pulling their bodies even closer together, and he feels the moment where James relaxes into him, wrapping his own arms around Matt’s body. It’s perfect, and Matt doesn’t care what James was doing.

Matt takes a step back, letting James overwhelm his senses. “You got dressed.”

“I mean, just barely. And you started it. Anyway, it could be very easily undone.”

He’s anxious. Matt can feel how anxious James is and it hurts. They were fine this morning, but something happened while he was gone and Matt can almost hear the ghosts inside James’s head telling him that he’s not good enough. They’ve talked about it, and James has given his consent for Matt to use any of the tools at his fingertips - or more specifically the tools that are his fingertips - to help snap him out of it, but usually it’s easier than that. A good meal, some physical exertion… usually that’s enough to get James out of his head. “No,” Matt smiles. “It’s good. I want to take you somewhere.”

“Where?” 

“To lunch. Nowhere fancy. And then maybe…” Matt hesitates, biting his lower lip. He wants this, and James has hinted at perhaps trying again, but it had ended so badly last time. Still... “Maybe a few rounds in the ring?” he asks tentatively.

He hears James’s heart rate pick up, happy not nervous, and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling like a fool. 

They have a light lunch at Nelson’s Meats. Too light, by Matt’s reasoning. James isn’t eating enough, and that worries him. When James excuses himself to use the restroom, Matt orders several pre-made sandwiches and salads to go. He borrows a cooler bag from Theo, which he promises to return tomorrow, and slips the whole thing into his gym bag. 

From there, they walk to Fogwell's. It’s a perfect afternoon - the sun is shining and it’s not too cold. While James brushes his thumb gently across Matt’s knuckles, Matt gently works a pressure point in the crook of James’s elbow - a trick he picked up from Danny to help James balance his chi. It’s making him fuzzy now, but when he snaps out of it Matt is hopeful that he’ll feel more calm and alert. 

Matt doesn’t break away until they reach Fogwell’s. By then, James is soft and relaxed. His breathing is steady and all of his anxiety seems to have drained away. The air in the gym is warm and still, and Matt tries to make as little noise as possible as he guides James through the space. James’s arms are limp and he moves easily when Matt takes his coat. Matt steps away, leaving James in the warmth of the sunlight filtering in through the large windows, and hangs their coats. He carefully opens his locker, moving slowly to avoid any creaks and groans from the old metal hinges, and he’s thankful that he’d thought to oil them recently. He retrieves his gloves and the pair he’d had fitted for James long ago, which still hang there untouched, as well as a roll of athletic tape and a small bag containing the goggles that Pete and Shuri had given him for his last birthday. He sets all of these carefully in the ring alongside his own gym bag, then walks back towards James. 

When he returns, James hasn’t moved. “You with me?” he asks, running a hand down James’s arm. The stress point he’d stimulated should have stopped affecting James by now, but he’s still so relaxed. James leans into his hand and Matt breathes in his scent. He interlaces their fingers and raises them to his lips, kissing James’s knuckles, and is rewarded with the feeling of James shivering beside him.

“I want you to know that I’m really looking forward to this,” Matt says quietly. He’s still holding their hands near his mouth, and his lips brush the back of James’s hand as he speaks. The man tastes intoxicating, and for a second Matt feels like they’re both drunk. He brings his other hand to James’s face, brushing the hair off of James’s forehead and allowing his forefinger to stray down his cheek. He gently cups James’s chin. His stubble is rough and sharp and Matt loves the feel of it under his thumb. “But we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I know you love me. You don’t have to prove anything.”

James smiles, and Matt can feel the effort it takes him. “Of course not, baby.” His voice sounds wrecked, but his heart says he’s being honest and his breathing says that his head is clear. “I’m just glad you brought me back. I know I messed up last time.”

“It’s forgotten.” He leans in to kiss James, and James trembles. 

Matt shakes his head. The feeling of James being so soft is starting to get to him, and that’s not why they’re here. He claps his hands together once, knowing that the shock of it will be enough to shake James out of any lingering fog, and is rewarded with the feeling of James standing up taller. His heart picks up just a little, and Matt can feel the energy start to pour off of him. Matt smiles and leads James, pulling him by one hand, up into the ring. He hands him a roll of tape, and James begins to wrap his hands. “Ok,” Matt says, feeling a little giddy about what comes next. “So, I know that you were worried about hurting me last time.”

“I’m sorry…”

“No,” Matt interrupts, grinning. “It’s ok. That’s valid. You’re a super soldier and I’m not; you are definitely stronger than I am, and I appreciate your worrying about me. Anyway, I really hope you don’t mind but mentioned it to Pete once, and he said something to Shuri and…” Matt turns and pulls the goggles out of his bag, “... they made me these.” 

James takes the goggles and slides them over his head. Matt’s fingers find the switch on the right side, above James’s ear, and flips the goggles on. He takes a step back and listens. Hopefully he’s placed himself right in James’s line of sight. 

He’s rewarded with a gasp. “Baby… Is this what you see?”

Matt laughs and James jumps at the sound. James’s heart skips. It’s perfect. Matt takes his hand, grounding him. He knows how disorientating this must feel for James and, while that is sort of the point, he doesn’t want to make it any harder. “Honestly, I have no way to know. I described it to them as best I could, and that’s what they made, but I didn’t have any way to check it. Putting these on doesn’t change anything for me.” He steps away and James frowns, and it hurts Matt to leave him alone like that. As quickly as possible, he grabs James’s gloves and starts to lace him in. “Plus it’s not really fair. I think everything you’re getting is based on heat. I tried to tell them there was more to it than that, but apparently it’s hard to capture microscopic changes in air pressure and things like that. Plus you’re not getting any of the sound or smell aspects. Still, hopefully it feels like the scales are a little more balanced?”

James nods, and Matt feels him scanning the room. James is getting nervous again. It’s a lot to take in. Matt’s confidence begins to waiver. Maybe the goggles aren’t doing what they’re supposed to be doing. Maybe it’s too much. It’s a lot to ask. He finishes lacing up James’ gloves and begins to work on his own. “You don’t have to…” 

“No. No, this is really fucking cool.”

_ Oh thank God.  _ He lets out a small laugh of relief. “Alright, then.” He rubs his gloves together. “Are you ready?” 

They tap gloves in the center of the ring, and then Matt lets James takes a few warm up swings, blocking them easily. He’s rolling out his shoulders and looking around, still getting used to the goggles, and Matt has no problem waiting while he gets settled. James moves first, a tentative jab and a right cross, and Matt brushes them easily away. James follows with a weak right uppercut, and while he’s resetting Matt lays into him hard with a left hook that connects with his lower jaw. James takes a step back in surprise and Matt shrugs. He comes forward with another right cross, less tentative this time, but Matt easily steps out of the way and James stumbles forward a few steps. Matt steps towards him, passing him right shoulder to right shoulder, and knocking him in the head with the back of his right glove for good measure. James spins around to face him and reset, gloves up to his nose, feet moving lightly over the ground. Matt listens to his muscles shifting, his breath starting to get heavier. He’s not angry yet, but Matt is confident he can get him there.

James moves: right hook, jab, right uppercut, and Matt dodges them all. He’s clearly favoring his right side, not willing to use his left any more than is absolutely necessary, and Matt needs it to stop. He growls and unleashes a slew of jabs and crosses, interspersed with body hooks, keeping James off his game. He leaves himself open on his left side, inviting, begging James to take the shot, and when he doesn’t Matt rewards him with a left uppercut that he knows makes James see stars. 

Instinctively, James brings his right hand up to the goggles. 

“Take them off,” Matt snarls.

“What?”

“Take them off and fucking fight me.”

James pauses for just a second, then bares his teeth and does as he’s told, practically ripping the goggles off and throwing them out of the ring. “You asked for it, Murdock.”

“Yeah. I fucking did. Now give it to me already.”

James swings first this time, a right hook that Matt dodges just in time. It catches him in the shoulder and not the jaw, and he grins. Then James is moving, and he’s still holding back but it’s better. There’s another right cross that Matt just manages to step to the side of, and this time he catches James’s right arm under his own, twisting it backwards. He hooks his right foot in front of James’s ankles, and lets the momentum of James’s punch carries him forward. James trips and goes down. 

He’s up on his feet in an instant, and Matt can sense the small pool of blood in the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think that’s a regulation move,” James says and spits. 

Matt shrugs. “House rules?”

“Which are what, exactly.”

“I already told you: Fucking fight me.”

James moves towards him, and the left arm is in it now too: Jab, cross, right hook, left hook, right uppercut… he’s fast and Matt struggles to keep up, blocking and avoiding but finally feeling like he’s on the defensive. It’s perfect. 

***

_ He’s insane,  _ Bucky thinks.  _ That is the only possible explanation.  _ Matt is egging him on. Goading him. Trying to keep him from holding back. All of which is annoying on its own, but even more annoying is the fact that it’s working. Bucky’s not giving it his all, but he’s giving it something - he’s giving it at least fifty percent- and Matt is deflecting him easily, dodging Bucky’s movements like they’re nothing. He’s also gotten a few good hits in himself.

_ Like that one, _ Bucky thinks, after his face meets the padded floor of the boxing ring, hard.  _ What the fuck was that?  _ He stands up and spits blood out of his mouth. “I don’t think that’s a regulation move.”

Matt shrugs. Honest to fucking god, he shrugs, like this is nothing and he didn’t just trip the world’s most prolific assassin. “House rules.”

That fucker. “Which are what, exactly?”

Matt grins, and Bucky wants to punch him on his mouth, with his own mouth, hard. “I already told you: Fucking fight me.”

Bucky moves without really thinking about it, and - ok - maybe he’s still holding back a little, but that’s only because, while he wants to kill his boyfriend sometimes, he doesn’t actually want to  _ kill  _ him. He moves: Jab, cross, right hook, left hook, right uppercut… and Matt is blocking him but just barely. It feels good. His heart is pounding and he’s starting to sweat and he’s falling into a comfortable rhythm.

Matt catches him in the gut with a front kick and it knocks the air out of him. He staggers a step back, struggling to block the blows that Matt is now raining down on his head. Matt comes at him with a right cross and Bucky steals a play from Matt’s own book, catching his right arm and wrenching him to the ground with it. 

Matt stays down for a breath, and for just a moment Bucky is worried that he actually hurt the man. Then Matt stands, slowly, and Bucky can see the shift in his face and in how he holds himself. He moves slowly, rising up, rolling out his shoulders, and Bucky knows the fight is still on - that he should be taking advantage of Matt’s inaction - but he feels as if he’s frozen to the spot under the weight of a sightless glare. Bucky shivers. Matt Murdock went down hard, but it is Daredevil who is standing back up. 

When he attacks, he moves unbelievably faster, punches and kicks that Bucky does his best to avoid. He’s amazed at how many still land. And he’s not holding back at all now, but Matt is still deflecting most of his blows, hands moving in advance of punches that Bucky must be telegraphing even though he doesn’t even rationally realize he's about to make them. Matt is smooth and brutal at the same time, and they’re both dripping with sweat, and when Matt drops his elbow, giving him an opening, Bucky moves instinctually with his left side to take it.

Bucky realizes his mistake a moment too late. Matt traps his left arm and Bucky braces for the flip that doesn’t come. Instead, Matt moves too fast, stepping around to the back of Bucky’s body, pinning his arm to his back. Bucky moves to break away, and Matt uses the twist to slide his right arm under Bucky’s left. Bucky clamps down with his arm, trying to guard against whatever Matt is planning, and Matt pulls back against his strength, wedging the base of his glove against Bucky’s vibranium arm and using its immovability to slide his right hand out of it’s boxing glove. It comes out with a loud pop and Bucky almost worries about Matt’s wrist, until he realizes that Matt is shoving his hand back under Bucky’s arm. Too late Bucky realizes his play and tries to pull away, creating the space that Matt needs to lift his hand up into Bucky’s armpit, finding the sensor immediately, as if he’s done it a hundred times before and not just the once. Bucky reaches for his left arm with his right hand, which pulls him off his balance just slightly, and Matt takes advantage, pushing Bucky face forward into the ground while simultaneously throwing his now disconnected left arm out of the ring.

At the last minute, Bucky reaches back and grabs onto Matt’s right arm - if he’s going down then this fucker is coming right with him - and they both fall, and Matt landing flat on Bucky’s back. He quickly grabs Bucky’s right arm, twisting it up and pinning it behind Bucky’s back, laying into it with his full weight to keep it immobilized. “Yield,” he growls into Bucky’s ear.

Bucky rolls, trying to flip them so he’s on top of Matt, but Matt doesn’t let up on Bucky’s right arm. Instead, he wraps his legs around Bucky’s waist, using the combined strength of his arms and legs plus the weight of his body to keep Bucky’s remaining arm plastered to his back. Bucky is off balance and Matt uses that plus their momentum to continue the roll, kicking one leg free and pushing off the ground until he is once again on top of Bucky. He moves a hand from Bucky’s arm to the back of his neck and he uses it to push Bucky’s face down into the mat. “Yield,” he repeats, his voice full of gravel. 

It is quite possibly the hottest thing Bucky has ever heard. 

Bucky nods and goes limp, afraid to utter a word, but of course Matt doesn’t need him to talk. He can hear his heart rate spiking, higher than it had been while they were fighting. He can feel the heat pooling around the erection that Matt’s weight is now grinding into the mat beneath him. Hell, he can probably smell the arousal pouring off of Bucky right now. 

Matt leans forward, and he still hasn’t released his grip Bucky’s arm or his neck. “Yeah?” he asks quietly, and he rolls his hips, just to be sure it’s perfectly clear what he’s asking. The asshole. 

Bucky licks his lips. “Yeah,” he whispers back.

For a moment, Matt is perfectly still and Bucky is almost afraid to breathe. Then the pressure on his right arm dissipates and he feels Matt shift above him. Bucky is terrified that he’s going to get up and leave but, before he can panic, Matt is back and he’s taken off his other boxing glove. He helps Bucky remove his remaining glove, and then his hands slide under Bucky’s shirt, pushing it up and over his head. Bucky can feel him pulling off his own shirt as well. 

And then Matt is there, arms on both sides of his head, planting kisses across his neck and down his spine. Bucky can’t help himself, and his hips jerk up and back, his ass grazing against Matt’s hard length and both men let out a groan. 

“Baby,” Bucky whines.

“Shhh….” Matt soothes him, running a soft hand down his side. His lips trace the scars along Bucky’s shoulder, teeth grazing against sensitive skin. 

“Matty, please. Need it. Need you.”

“I know. I know, Sunshine. I’m gonna take care of you. I’ve got you.” Matt’s mouth drifts lower, painstakingly soft and slow across Bucky's lower back. 

“Matty. Matty, please Matty. Matty, Matty, Matty please.” Bucky is begging. He knows it and he doesn’t care. Tears spring to his eyes as Matt pushes his pants and boxers down, his stubble rough on Bucky’s ass. “Fuck me. Please, baby, please. I need you to fuck me. I can’t think about anything else. Please.”

“Shhh… I hear you. I will.” He licks a hot stripe across Bucky's tight hole. 

Bucky sobs as Matt kisses him, tongue flicking across his rim. 

“You tell me to stop if you need me to stop, ok?” Matt whispers. His hands drift from Bucky's hips down to his ass, spreading his cheeks, diving in, and Bucky is lost in the sensation of tongue and lips and teeth, stubble scraping against his sensitive skin. He can feel Matt working himself in deeper with each lick. With each scrape of his teeth, Bucky can feel himself first tense, and then loosen. It’s wet and it’s messy, but like everything Matt does it’s also precise and perfect and Bucky is overwhelmed with want. 

Too soon Matt is pulling away, and Bucky whimpers at the loss. 

“I know. I know James. I’ve got you...” 

Matt rolls Bucky over, and Bucky has a moment of awe at how good he looks. His hair is wild, lips are red and swollen, shoulders and chest are bare and strong and glistening with sweat. Bucky is starting to leak precome, and Matt leans forward to lick it off the tip of his cock. His eyes come up in an approximation of meeting Bucky’s, and Bucky wonders again where he learned that move - if he realizes how hot he looks, how absolutely feral, like fighting and fucking are the same thing to him… and hell, Bucky’s only starting to realize that they really, really are. 

He swallows Bucky down, and Bucky lets his head roll back against the mat beneath him. Matt has one hand on Bucky's hip, a reminder to stay still, that Matt’s in control this time. His other hand is tracing patterns onto Bucky's ribs and it should tickle, if it was anyone else it would tickle, but Matt knows exactly where to touch and where to avoid. 

Matt runs his tongue along Bucky’s dick. He hollows his cheeks and hums, and his hand traces a line under Bucky’s body. Bucky lifts his hips just enough, and Matt finds his hole, still wet and loose from Matt’s tongue, and he presses just the tip of one finger inside. 

Bucky comes and it takes him by surprise. His body is shaking and he’s still hard and god he needs more. He needs this man to absolutely wreck him. 

“Fuck, baby, baby, Matty please, it’s not enough, I need you…” He tips his head back. They’re near the edge of the ring, near one of the corners to be exact, and he wants to reach out and hold onto the ropes, anything to ground himself, to make him feel less like he’s about to fly right out of his skin. But it’s just a little too far and he can’t reach and Matt took his arm anyway.

“I promise, sunshine. I’m going to give you everything you need and more,” Matt soothes, kissing his way back up to Bucky’s mouth. Bucky reaches down between them and shoves his hand inside Matt’s pants, grabbing his cock roughly.

“Now!” Bucky tries to growl but it comes out as more of a whine, and he pushes Matt’s pants down before rolling himself back to his stomach.

“Fuck,” Matt hisses.

“That’s the plan, baby.”

Matt groans. And then he’s hauling Bucky up with a single arm wrapped around his chest and -  _ Fuck!  _ \- he shouldn’t be that strong and Bucky hasn’t been manhandled like this and made to feel like he’s small in so long. 

“Damn you, stop pushing. Let me do this right. Let me take care of you.”

Bucky tries to shout that this is right. That this is what he needs to be taken care of, but the words are cut off before they even start when Matt pushes him up against the ring’s corner post. Bucky wraps his arm around the post, holding onto it for dear life, fingers digging into a towel that is draped over it. He sticks his ass out, knows what he must look like, then bites back a laugh because Matt can’t see what he looks like anyway. Matt doesn’t need to see him, ass up in the air like a wanton slut, to know how much Bucky wants this.

“What are you laughing at, Sunshine?” Matt asks from behind him, hands finding Bucky’s hips, thumbs rubbing perfect circles into his lower back. He begins to kiss down Bucky’s spine - slow, hot, worshiping kisses that make Bucky want to cry and cry out for more at the same time.

“Is this finally happening?” Bucky’s not sure how he manages to get the words out. One of Matt’s hands is still on his hip but the other is moving up his torso, fingers tracing across his hip bone and up his abs, between his pecs and to his shoulder, coming to rest, splayed out flat over the scars of Bucky’s shoulder. Matt’s entire body is pressed against Bucky’s back now, and Bucky can feel his dick pressing hard and hot against his ass.

“You’ve been wanting this?” Matt asks as he begins to kiss Bucky’s neck. “Been thinking about this for a while?” 

Bucky nods. He’s not sure he could speak if he tried. 

“I’ve been thinking about this too, James. You’re always so strong. Always so in control. Wasn’t sure you’d want me to take care of you.”

Bucky whines. “Want it. Need it baby, please. Please fuck me.”

He can feel the way his words affect Matt. His hands tighten possessively on Bucky’s shoulder and hip, and his cock jumps against Bucky’s ass. 

“I’m going to. Just let me do it right.” Then Matt is moving again. He kisses back down Bucky’s spine, hand retreating back across Matt’s chest the way it came, following the path Bucky’s own hand took that very morning. His hands work lower, squeezing Bucky’s ass and gripping bruises into Bucky’s thighs. Matt must be kneeling now, because he begins to kiss along Bucky’s legs where his hands had squeezed and then there’s a rustling sound, but Bucky doesn’t even have time to think about it before Matt’s standing again and his hands are back on Bucky and then he’s pushing a finger into him and -  _ holy shit -  _ does he keep lube in his gym bag? And Bucky would wonder more about that if there wasn’t a finger working it’s way into his ass. He wants to push back, to tell Matt to hurry it up, to get his dick inside him already, except it’s Matt’s finger so it knows exactly what he wants even better than he does.

Matt works slowly, just on the edge of too slow, but every time Bucky is about to ask for more Matt gives it to him before he can get the words out. Bucky is about to beg for Matt to move when his finger twitches, brushing lightly against his prostate at the perfect angle. Matt does it again and again until Bucky feels like his entire body is on fire, and just when he’s about to cry out Matt adds a second finger, stretching at Bucky’s rim.

It’s too much, and Bucky comes again. 

He feels more than hears Matt chuckling behind him, and he can just imagine the dark look of satisfaction Matt has on his face, knowing that he’s breaking Bucky apart like this. If he hadn’t just come, picturing that face might have been enough to push him over the edge again, and his cock twitches immediately back to life.

The second finger pushes in, followed by a third, and now Matt is thrusting deeply with all three fingers, working Bucky open, and at this point it should be perfunctory but it’s Matt so it’s still anything but.

He pulls away and Bucky almost cries out at the loss until he remembers what comes next. 

He hears Matt lube himself up, feels his head pushing against Bucky’s relaxed hole, and blinks back tears as Matt slowly, almost painfully slowly, begins to push in. He slides in until they are slotted together fully and, again, Matt rests his weight on Bucky’s back and kisses his neck. 

“You still ok?” Matt whispers into his ear, and Bucky just nods because he’s afraid to open his mouth. He’s more than ok. He’s warm and he’s full and he needs Matt to move right the fuck now but also he just want to lay like this forever, feeling Matt hard inside of him. Matt seems to understand all of this, just from a single nod, and he gently bites Bucky’s ear before rolling his hips. He doesn’t pull out - he keeps their bodies tight together, moving just enough that Bucky can feel the delicious fire starting to build inside him again. Slowly, still so slowly, Matt moves, hands carefully mapping out the front of Bucky’s body while chest is firm against Bucky’s back and his dick is setting Bucky’s insides aflame. 

Bucky’s knees start to tremble and he’s about to speak again, to ask for more, when Matt brings one hand to grip firmly on Bucky’s shoulder and uses it to lift himself up. He pulls back until his head is tugging at Bucky’s rim, pauses momentarily, and then pushes back into Bucky in a single thrust and Bucky can’t stop the tears from rolling down his face. Matt is fucking like he fights now, smooth and relentless, and Bucky hopes the bruises that he’s digging into his shoulder and hip will last. Matt holds him down; holds him in place bent over the towel draped post, and the towel is rough against his dick, and Bucky knows he isn’t going to last much longer. 

Matt seems to be in a similar situation. His breath is coming in ragged gasps, and his hips are stuttering as he drives into Bucky. He tightens his grip on Bucky’s shoulder as he moves his other hand from Bucky’s hip to Bucky’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. 

“Please.” Matt leans forward and whispers in Bucky’s ear, his tongue darting out and catching a tear off of Bucky’s jaw, his thumb doing something particularly brutal to the tip of Bucky’s cock. “Give me one more. I need it.”

Bucky whites out as he comes, clenching down on Matt who lets out a muffled cry and follows suit, collapsing onto Bucky’s back and panting heavily into the space between his shoulder blades. 

He doesn’t want to move, but he also doesn’t really have a choice, his body squished as it is between the corner post pushing into his chest and Matt’s firm warmth spread against his back. So Bucky shifts slightly, jostling Matt, who lifts himself up and pulls away and both men whimper slightly at the loss of contact. 

Bucky turns around and Matt has his eyes cast down, embarrassed and sheepish, so he wraps his arm around Matt’s waist and pulls him close. Bucky kisses him, soft and slow, not building to anything more. “Thank you,” he mouths into the kiss, not wanting to pull away even to speak. “Thank you.” The two men stay close together as they pull up their pants, neither wanting to break contact with the other. Then Matt sits down in the corner of the ring and pulls Bucky with him. Bucky settles easily between his legs and lets his head rest back on Matt’s shoulder. 

“That was ok?” Matt asks, kissing down the side of Bucky's neck. 

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, Matty. That was ok. What took you so long, anyway?”

“Thought you wouldn’t like it.”

“You thought wrong.” Bucky settles back deeper into Matt’s chest. “I can’t believe you took my arm, though.”

Matt giggles, and it’s definitely not the response Bucky was expecting but he decides he likes that too. 

“I mean, you think you know a guy,” Bucky continues, smiling. “You trust him with your kryptonite and not 24 hours later he’s using that knowledge for evil!”

“Evil!” Matt gasps in mock offense, wrapping his arms more tightly around Bucky’s body. “You weren’t acting like you thought it was that evil twenty minutes ago.” He pauses, relaxing his grip, starting to shift out from underneath Bucky. “You want me to grab it for you?”

“Nah.” Bucky wraps Matt’s arms back around him. “I’m good like this for a while.”

They sit in a comfortable silence that is only interrupted by a growl in Bucky’s stomach, and Matt retrieves the sandwiches and salads from his bag.

“What are you, Mary Poppins with that thing?” Bucky asks, and they both laugh.

Matt resumes kissing Bucky's neck and shoulders while Bucky eats his second lunch. 

“Why’d you do it, though?” Bucky asks around a mouthful of sandwich. “The arm, I mean. You had me on the ropes. I wasn’t holding back and you still probably could have won.”

Matt sighs. “Yeah, I felt that. I felt you let go. It was amazing… and a little frightening. I thought I could probably keep avoiding you, but if I didn’t… I mean, if you would have knocked me out it really would have killed the mood.”

Bucky laughs. Matt’s certainly not wrong about that. “Ok, how about this? What if I talked to Shuri. I bet she could figure something out to take the strength down in my left arm and make it equal to my right. You’d still be fighting a super soldier, you just wouldn’t wouldn’t be fighting a cyborg, too. That sound good to you?”

“Yeah. That sounds good to me.” Matt pauses, and he’s not even kissing Bucky anymore; he’s just running his nose up and down Bucky’s neck, which would definitely be weird if it were anyone else. “Does that mean you want to do this again sometime?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Matty. I want to do this again sometime. I want to do all of this again sometime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just take a moment...
> 
> Honestly the first chapter of When Hell Freezes Over was supposed to be it. It was a dumb joke: "Bucky gets drunk in a bar after Steve leaves. Turns out that bar is Josie's." That was it. That was the whole story. And then I got feedback to write more, and the first thing that popped into my head was "MATT AND BUCKY SHOULD BOX!!!"
> 
> And it took this long to make it happen. 
> 
> I don't even know. Hope you enjoyed the filth! Drop me a comment and let me know what you thought, pretty please.

**Author's Note:**

> Be a pal and leave comments and kudos, pretty please? 
> 
> And if you like this, consider subscribing to the series.


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